


Collections: Dragon Age

by mageswagger, thegirlwiththefandoms



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Greasers, Alternate Universe - book shop, Cassandra Pentaghast as Divine, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 14:02:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 44
Words: 36,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7535599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mageswagger/pseuds/mageswagger, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlwiththefandoms/pseuds/thegirlwiththefandoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles, predominantly centered around Cassarric and originally posted on my tumblr account, Mythal-Rising. With risk of losing these stories, I'm in the process of relocating them here to preserve them. Those that are connected will be labeled as such. Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Small Town AU, anonymous

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: Small Town AU, Cassandra is a cop and Varric is their local claim to fame with his writing
> 
> so this is set in a fictionalized version of my college town i went to that had the population of 3,873 and a total area of 3.1 sq mi. yeaaaaaah.

Cuthbert, Georgia was one hell of a town, but Cassandra was never quite sure if she meant that in a good way or a bad way. The good thing was that crime was low. The bad thing was that it was a college town. The college in question was a 2 year Methodist College that was fairly strict in only three regards: visitation policies, substance abuse, and attendance.

Cassandra Pentaghast was the Chief of Police for the town itself, and that involved having a very tight relationship with the colleges own police force to know what to look out for.

The town had no bar of any sort. The largest structure was a Fred’s shopping center. The only major corporations that settled in the town were CVS, Dollar General, Subway, BP, Huddle House, and Churches Chicken. Everything else was privately owned by the citizens of Cuthbert. Cassandra was, personally, a fan of Village Pizza, but the lone Huddle House on the towns outskirts was unfortunately much more affordable. They also had coffee.

She sat at the small bar, forearms braced on the counter top and hands circled around a warm cup of coffee. It wasn’t as good as what she made at home, but Cassandra believed in supporting the small town in whatever way she could. It was falling apart in places, and the college could only offer so much business. It didn’t help that the Randolph County dump had been closed down, leaving Cuthbert with a surplus of garbage and not enough people with the foresight to recycle.

Cuthbert was a fixer upper, but Cassandra believed with all her heart that once cleaned up it could really be something. It was part of the reason why she hadn’t left yet.

The seat to her left creaked as a sturdy form settled in, and a glance told her immediately who it was. “Varric,” she greeted, her voice terse.

“Chief,” he retorted. She sighed heavily.

“Must you call me that?” she asked.

“I think it’s catchy,” he grinned and she shook her head. “Besides, it’s what you are.”

“What I am is tired,” she grumbled against her cup before taking a slow sip of her coffee.

“You work too hard,” Varric offered his unsolicited advice. “You’re going to go grey soon.”

“I should remind you that you’re older than me,” she countered. “If anyone is going to go grey first, it’s you. It’ll probably start with your chest hair.”

Varric gasped, raising a hand to his chest. “Now that was just uncalled for, Chief,” he said. “You’re going to hurt my feelings.”

“Better your feelings than something else,” she grumbled.

Varric just laughed.

Varric Tethras was the most recent claim to fame the town had. Before him, they were known for the story of Lena Baker - the first woman to be tried and executed in the state. That was in the 1940’s, and the towns people still brought it up at every available moment. Cassandra wasn’t certain that was an event the town should be _proud_ of.

Despite their largely antagonistic relationship, Cassandra had all of his books. She kept them on her nightstand, staked between bookends to keep them upright. Some she had read so frequently that the pages had begun falling out, and the edges of the covers had worn down over the years. Her favorite was _Swords and Shields_ , but _the Tale of the Champion_ came in a close second.

Her copy of _the Tale of the Champion_ was ruined, though. She had been off duty at the bank when a robber - foolishly - decided to try an armed robbery. She’d been shot, but her luck was that she had tucked the novel into her coat to protect it from the rain on her way to the Village Pizza. While they reeled in shock over the image of a woman shrugging off his bullet, she had incapacitated him and kept him down while she waited for the rest of her officers to arrive.

Despite the fact that she wasn’t wounded, they still shuffled her off to the hospital to make sure she wasn’t wounded. There was a bruise on her chest where the bullet had made impact, but otherwise she was wound free.

She was sad about her book, though. It was a first edition.

As she sat in the nurses office, shirt unbuttoned and waiting for the OK to leave, there was a knock on the door. Assuming it was the nurse, she didn’t hesitate to allow them entry. She didn’t expect to see Varric.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, blinking at him. He kept his eyes on her face, to which she appreciated.

“Town was talking how my book saved your life,” he said. She groaned.

“Of course they were,” she sighed. “Fine. Go ahead and gloat.”

“No, I think I’ll save that for later,” he grinned. “This is something to savor.”

Cassandra shook her head. “You are absolutely ridiculous,” she informed him.


	2. Modern AU, Palavenblues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part One of Three: "You still taking prompts? Cause I can totally see Cass as a tough greaser and Varric as the book-writing nerd with a crush on her."

Varric tended to have an eye for stories. He was a business man first and foremost, of course, but writing was something he was good at. It was something he enjoyed. And who said writing _wasn’t_ business? He thought it counted just the same.

Having such a keen eye for stories, it didn’t take much for something to trigger an idea. Generally, his characters were inspired by his friends, people he had met. His most widely-sold novel, _The Tale of the Champion,_ had been based on his friend Hawke and her posse (of which he was a proud part). His lesser-known series, _Swords and Shields_ , had a main character based on their mutual friend Aveline and her husband, Donnic. 

This, however, was slightly different from his normal inspiration.

He noticed the woman when he was sitting in a starbucks - what can he say, some cliché’s were worth buying into - staring out the window and watching people walk by. He was _supposed_ to be working, but he’d gotten distracted. 

If his publisher asked, he would say he was ‘gathering information’. And it wasn’t even a lie, exactly. The information just never seemed relevant, however.

Until today. Today, one of those people made a very clear impression.

She had caught his attention when she roared up on a motorcycle - sleek, black, and fancy. Varric didn’t know shit about cars, but he could figure out which ones cost more than others. That was child’s play.

He watched her from his peripherals, chin propped up on his hand. She stood in a fluid motion, black-boots connecting with the asphalt, and when gloved hands pulled off her helmet he nearly forgot to be subtle about his staring (but only nearly).

Her face was made of sharp angles - he hazard to go so far as to say there wasn’t anything remotely soft about her. A hard, wide jaw, jagged cheekbones (the one facing him bisected with a pink scar), and a pointed nose that seemed to have a small knot near the bridge that disrupted the otherwise smooth line. She turned more fully, facing him straight-on as she took off her gloves, and he retracted his earlier statement. Her lips looked soft - slightly unbalanced, perhaps a little wide, but the skin was smooth and glossy.

Glossy? Now that was a kick. A biker who wore lipgloss. That wasn’t something you heard every day.

Black hair slashed across her forehead, jagged and unkempt. He couldn’t tell if that was purposeful or just carefully styled.

She looked up and he looked away, but not before he noticed her eyes were hazel.

Had someone asked him why he seemed so fixated, he wouldn’t have a single damn answer. After a moments thought, however, he supposed it was because she was striking. She certainly broadcasted a certain image, and perhaps it was that which caught his eye. The atmosphere she provided was like something you would read in a novel. 

That was how Varric found the inspiration to start another book. Not that he needed another, of course, but at least it wasn’t a series (or so he hoped). A figure like that though - one that left an impression - wasn’t something to just throw away. It was something to savor.

He watched her subtly as she met with a few people, none of which looked quite as leather-bound and hard as her, and the group made their way into the coffee shop. 

In his mind, Varric was already formulating a plot. A character. A story.

“Are you getting something today, Cassandra?” the slender redhead asked, the french accent catching Varric off guard slightly.

“Perhaps,” the biker spoke., her voice entirely unexpected but surprisingly suiting. He couldn’t place her accent - was it germanic? European? Shit, he had no idea. She didn’t _look_ European. “I have not decided.”

“Might I suggest you start?” the lone-male of the group said, glancing towards Cassandra. His blonde hair was slicked back slightly with gel, but if Varric looked closely enough he could see a few curls starting to escape their prison. “The line’s short today.”

“You go ahead,” Cassandra said, shaking her head. “If I want something, I’ll get in line.”

The group parted, three going ahead while Cassandra stayed behind, and Varric kept his peripherals on her as he opened his laptop and pulled up a new document. 

With her presence in his mind, he began to write, crafting a character based around her - a character that went nameless. He called her the Seeker.

The group left half an hour later, coffee’s in hand as they walked down the street. Window shopping, no doubt. Even though the woman was long gone, she had left a lasting impression.

He just hoped the fictionalized version of her stood up to the real thing. He assumed he would never know.


	3. Modern AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part Two of Three, no prompt

Despite his initial thoughts, Varricwound up seeing the woman – Cassaandra – quite often. Varric never kept a schedule of when he went for coffee, but after that initial glimpse he took achance and returned to the shop the same time the following week. Likeclockwork, at the very same time the familiar black bike roared into the parkinglot, the familiar, lethal figure disembarking and making her way into the shop.She was alone, and he assumed based upon the way she went straight into the line that she wasn’t waiting on anyone.

Varric was intensely aware of her, trying to find the words to explain how she moved. She walked with purpose, her body angled forward, almost as if she was in a charge. She was tense, aware, and confident. Like a lioness on the prowl, and he wondered if she was aiming to protect or to hunt?

His manuscript was growing with each passing moment, the character of the book fleshing itself out. He found himself writing a sequel to _The Tale of the Champion_ , a work he had never considered expanding upon. This one focused around a Seeker of Truth – unnamed at the moment, since the only name he found to fit her was Cassandra and he couldn’t use that for obvious reasons. She was tough, hard as nails, proud but not arrogant, loyal but not blind, determined but not foolhardy, and completely and totally unrelenting. The Tale of the Champion had ended with the murder of Grand Cleric Elthina, the destruction of the Kirkwall Circle of Magi, and the escape of the Champion form the city with her broody elven lover. Left behind was the trusty dwarf – based on yours truly – who kept his friends secrets under lock and key.

Until, of course, he was accosted by the lovely lady Seeker, all fire and wrath, demanding answers for a question that was not nearly so clear-cut as she had liked to believe. The characters butted heads, each sly remark burrowing under her skin until she nearly stabbed him.

Idly, Varric wondered what that said about his self-opinion, if he was turning this figure into his antagonist.

Time moved ever onward, as it always did, and he almost didn’t notice when a black-clad figure plopped into the couch on his other side, carefully balancing a coffee cup on her lap as she unzipped her thick leather coat to pull an outdated phone from her inner pocket.

Shit, she was sitting by him. That made writing a bit more awkward. Varric kept his attention on his work, but his fingers had inexplicably stopped moving, and he was much more aware of it than he should have been. Logically, he knew it was impossible for her to know anything about what he was writing – knew it was unlikely that she could piece together who this character was based on. But it was like getting his hand stuck in the proverbial cookie jar.

She cursed under her breath, and in an instant she was looking at him. “Do you have a phone charger with you?” she asked.

He glanced to her, met her eyes – still hazel, still sharp and demanding – and he glanced to her phone. An older iPhone, one that happened to use the same charger as his iPod, which he kept in his bag. “Yeah, I think so,” he said. He leaned over the edge of the couch, pulling the white cord from his bag before offering it to her. She nodded, accepting it and plugging it in to the outlet by the couch.

“Thank you,” she said, and that was all.

* * *

The pattern continued for a month. Sometimes, the Seeker – as he had taken to calling her, even within his own mind – would arrive with her friends, the same three from before. He learned through casual eavesdropping that their names were Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen. Other days, when she came alone, she would sit with him on the couch in silence. All the while his manuscript grew, but the plot kept escaping him. There were so many ways he could take it, so many ideas, but none stuck.

Eventually, even the Seeker couldn’t provide enough inspiration to keep him going. He was back at step one, questioning whether or not this novel was a hopeless endeavor.

As he sat there, at a loss for words, Cassandra came in, a backpack hanging off one shoulder. When she took a seat on the couch, she deposited the bag at her feet and pulled free a book. A book with a quickly recognized cover.

Shit. She read _Swords and Shields_.

There was a long moment of silence as she opened her book, the pages well-worn and bookmarked with flap of the book cover. His face starred up from the small biography, and her hands paused.

Slowly, she looked to him, and Varric struggled to act like he didn’t notice her at all. He just kept staring at his screen, trying to force words that wouldn’t come.

“…you’re Varric Tethras,” she said, a clear note of disbelief in her strong voice.

He looked to her. There was a moment of silence. “The one and only,” he agreed.

She looked torn between slapping him and hugging him. Varric didn’t know of that was amusing, or terrifying.


	4. Modern AU, anonymous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part Three of Three; "modern cassaric AU where Cassandra has a grumpy tabby that her new boyfriend has to learn to get along with"

Being confronted by the inspiration for his vaguely terrifying character went slightly better than Varric had thought it would go. To his great surprise, his initial read of her had been incredibly accurate. There was one thing he had missed though: Cassandra was a romantic.

That was revealed in part because she read the worst and most fluffy and sickeningly sweet novel he had - the one novel that his publisher had said would never amass anything more than a small cult following. She read it, and she enjoyed it, and when he admitted that he hadn’t planned on continuing she looked at him as if he had said the single most offensive thing he could think of.

The pattern continued for a while. She would sit by him when she wasn’t with her friends, they would strike up a conversation for a while, and she would leave. After a few months Varric realized that god damn him, but he _liked_ her. He hadn’t liked anyone since - well. He didn’t want to talk about it.

So one day, before she showed up, he went ahead and bought her coffee for her and had it waiting one the table by the couch. She walked in, moved to deposit her bag on her seat, and paused.

“Is this yours?” she asked, pointing to the cup.

“No,” he responded. “It’s yours.”

When he glanced up at her she was smiling, surprisingly soft and open, and his heart fluttered.

Fuck.

* * *

They went on a date three weeks later. She was the one the ask - hesitant and earnest - and though he could think of a million reasons to say no, he said yes. Three dates in - each with varying degrees of success - and now he was in her house. He had gone to pick her up and she opened the door with her hair up in a towel, apologizing profusely as she explained that she had slept late and she still needed to get dressed. Varric didn’t mind, and she said he could get comfortable.

Now, he was in the midsts of a staring contest with a large, tubby tabby. The cat was perched on the coffee table, staring him down with intense yellow eyes, his tail flickering back and forth menacingly. Varric didn’t know how he felt about that.

“Could you stop staring?” he asked, looking cautiously at the feline. “It’s weird.”

The tabby continued to stare. Of course it did. It was a cat.

It meowed, loud and obnoxious, and Varric meowed back. It’s tail flickered, and Varric considered just reaching out and pushing it off the table.

The staring contest lasted until Cassandra came downstairs, putting in a studded earring. The cat stood, stretching out it’s paws, before jumping from the table and trotting it’s way to curl around Cassandra’s ankles. Cassandra barely paid the cat any mind. Varric got the notion it was challenging him.

“Sorry,” Cassandra apologized. “I usually set a timer on my phone.”

“It’s fine,” Varric assured her, standing and approaching her. “Your, uh, cat kept me company.”

Cassandra blinked, glancing down at the creature as if it were the first time she noticed him. “Oh. Yes. That’s Justinia.”

Justinia? That was a weird name for a cat. Varric didn’t say as much though - the tabby was staring at him again. It was really starting to freak him out.

“Right,” he said. He looked back to Cassandra as she pulled on her signature leather coat. “You ready to go?”

She nodded, and they made their way out of the house - but not before Justinia gave a loud yowl of protest. Varric’s skin crawled at the sound. “She always get so upset when you leave?”

“She’s very protective,” Cassandra explained. Varric winced.

Looks like he had more competition than he thought he would.


	5. A Promise, markofandrasteoranchor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Send me a NUMBER AND A PAIRING and I will write something to describe:  
> 22\. A Promise

When the news that Cassandra was first in line to become the Divine broke, it was met with mixed response. Some were happy - the Inquisitor looked pleased - and others were more withdrawn. Leliana was supportive, if disappointed it was not her, and Vivienne looked unsettled.

No one outwardly objected, but Cassandra knew it did not please everyone. She knew that would happen going into things. Despite that, she knew that this was what she had to do. She knew this was what she _needed_ to do. The fact that the Maker had allowed her to come so close only reinforced her belief that her actions were just. That was what mattered above all else.

However, outside of her professional opinion, she was left with a churning gut filled with anxiety.

Not long after she retired to her room, Varric entered and sat beside her on the bed. They were silent for a long moment, almost hesitant. Or perhaps that was just her.

“You should have seen Vivienne’s face when you finally left,” he said. “She looked like she swallowed a lime.”

“Vivienne would have made a fine Divine,” Cassandra said reasonably. “But it would take much to convince the Chantry to place a mage as their head. Without the Inquisitors support, her chances were too slim.”

“I’d have liked to see her in the box hat,” he said. Cassandra cracked a smile.

The silence returned, less heavy than before, but she was still anxious - still hesitant. She didn’t know what to say - she didn’t know what he wanted. If he still wanted her. If he still thought he could have her.

“What are you planning on doing, once this is over?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Haven’t thought about it much,” he lied. “Figured I might go back to Kirkwall.”

Cassandra was silent for a long moment, considering her next words carefully. 

“I wont have much time, after I become the Divine,” she said slowly. “It will be difficult. But any time I have is yours. Should you want it.”

She looked to him and he was silent. His hand reached out, grabbing hers, and she twisted their fingers together automatically.

“I wonder if you get Wintersend off,” he mused, and she smiled.


	6. A Nap, Inquisitor/Cullen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Send me a NUMBER AND A PAIRING and I will write something to describe:  
> 5\. A Nap

Whenever Eowyn took the time to rest in Cullen’s room, it was always cold. She had reasoned that had mostly to do with the giant hole in the ceiling that never got fixed - mostly because Cullen refused to move it up in the list of repairs. Eowyn tried to convince him to mend the break, but he refused. There were better uses for our coin, he had said.

Despite her concern for his health, Eowyn could acknowledge that there were some benefits to having a constant chill. The cold meant that they simply had to move closer.

Her body was stretched out alongside his, her nose tucked against his collar and her hands wedged between their bodies, one palm flat against his chest and the other curled in the sheets. Conversely, his hands reached out, one pressed to the warm strip of skin at the small of her back while the other cushioned her head. Their legs were interlocked, hers wedged between his, and when he exhaled she felt the warmth of his breath tickle the small hairs along her hairline.

They hadn’t been asleep for long - the sun was still as high as it was when she’d convinced him to a nap - but her body was heavy and lethargic as if she’d lain there for hours. 

His body shifted against hers, hand pressing higher and his lips brushing against her temple. The affection had her heart fluttering and she retaliated with a small kiss to his collar.

“That’s not napping,” he murmured, humor inflecting his words.

“I can’t kiss you?” she asked, smiling slightly against his neck.

“Not when we’re supposed to be resting,” he said. Even still, his lips brushed along the curve of her cheek. “It’s counterproductive.”

“Maybe I like being counterproductive,” she argued. “I have to be productive all the time, anyway.”

He chuckled, low and warm. “So you’re right,” he agreed. “Fine. A few kisses wont hurt anything.”

Eowyn tilted her head up to kiss under his chin, still smiling like a fool. Regardless of the chill of the room, whenever she was with Cullen he never failed to leave her with a warm feeling in her chest. Despite everything, this, at least, she knew was worthwhile.


	7. Bookshop AU, anonymous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part One of Four; "AU- Cassandra runs a book store, is secretly a fan of Varric's novels. He shows up to do a reading/signing."

The flyer in itself was completely innocuous - there was nothing special about it. It was designed like most flyers were for the store; plain, utilitarian, informative with a splash of colour. One of the shop workers, Cullen, was much more suited to keeping the schedule organized than she was. As such, the task of making the flyers fell to him, as he was the one who knew the specifics.

Despite it’s apparent innocence, however, this flyer was the most important thing Cassandra had ever seen. She looked up to Cullen, who still stood in front of her waiting for her approval to start printing them out en masse.

“Varric Tethras is coming here?” she asked.

Cullen nodded, rolling up the sleeves of his flannel. “Leliana worked it out; she said you were fine with it?”

Cassandra was silent for a long moment, trying to swallow down the embarrassing knee jerk reaction. “She convinced Varric Tethras to do a book signing  _here?”_

He nodded again, slower this time. “Is - is that going to be a problem?”

If she shook her head any faster, she would have given herself whiplash. “No! No, there isn’t a  _problem._ I just - I had no idea. This is…Shit. This is great.”

Cullen raised a brow slowly. “Are - are you a fan?” he asked, a bit incredulously.

Heat blossomed in Cassandra’s cheeks. “I - I have read a few of his books!” she said. “But not…intensively.” 

Both brows arched as Cullen looked at her, and she huffed. “Fine. I have read his things. Happy?”

“Not as happy as you seem to be,” he pointed out. She swatted him with the stack of flyers.

“Go post these around town,” she ordered. “And stop looking at me like that. That’s an order.”

She was going to have words for Leliana whenever she returned; namely, regarding the practice of keeping secrets from your co-owner.  _Especially_ secrets regarding Varric Tethras.

…

Varric Tethras was in her store. God, she sounded like a fool. She was an adult. She was perfectly capable of keeping herself composed.

She pulled Cullen over by the back of his flannel, shoving her copy of _Swords and Shields_ into his arms. “Go get him to sign this,” she ordered. Cullen raised a brow.

“Why not go get it signed yourself?” he asked.

“I can’t let people know that I read this garbage,” she hissed.

“Well, that leaves me with all sorts of warm fuzzy feelings,” a dry, unfamiliar voice came from her back. Cassandra froze, and Cullen looked a perfect blend between apologetic and amused.

Slowly she turned, eyes landing on the shorter man who was leaning casually against her counter with a twinkle in his eye that spoke of mischief. 

“I - I mean…” Cassandra stuttered before drawing herself to her full height, back straightening. “…shit.”

Varric laughed, shaking his head. “No, no, it’s fine. Actually, I agree with you. I didn’t know people still bought _Swords and Shields_ , let alone read it. What volume is that?”

“The latest,” she said. “Before you stopped writing them.”

The man shrugged. “Yeah. Publisher said they didn’t sell well. Decided to stick with _Hard in Hightown_.”

“Swords and Shields may be horrible,” Cassandra said, “But it’s…” she sighed heavily. “It’s wonderful.”

Varric laughed at her outright, sparking her ire faster than she anticipated. “It’s your book!” she reminded him.

“It is,” he agreed. “Come on. I’ll sign it for you.”

She blinked rapidly. “Really?” she asked.

“Sure,” he agreed, grinning roguishly. “Anything for a fan.”


	8. Bookshop AU, anonymous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part Two of Four; "Cassarric, first kiss?"

After his initial appearance at her shop, Cassandra had completely anticipated never seeing Varric again. Why would she?

She settled down at her counter, her worn but well-loved copy of  _Swords and Shields_ open in front of her. She was reading it leisurely, as it was one of their slow days and she didn’t risk anyone recognizing the title.

The bell over the door chimed and she said instinctively: “Welcome to Seekers.” Her gaze never left her book.

“You know, you should really try reading something new,” a familiar voice said. She looked up and Varric was standing in front of her, setting a book down on top of hers. She looked down. Her heart stopped.

“Is that-?”

“The latest book of _Swords and Shields_?” he finished. “It is. Already signed, too.”

"You - I thought you said that it didn’t sell,” she looked up to him again, completely confused.

Varric shrugged. “What can I say? I couldn’t let my number one fan down.”

She looked back down to the book - shiny, new, begging to be read - and then back up to Varric. “Thank you,” she said. “I - you didn’t have to - I appreciate this.”

That wasn’t the last time Varric stopped by. Cassandra had no idea why, but he seemed to like her small shop. Maybe it was the people. Maybe it was the selection. Maybe it was just the solitude. But occasionally he would show up, chat with her for a moment (mostly wheedling her about _Swords and Shields_ , but not always), and then he would wander off to the back.

He came in again later, another book in hand. The next edition. “I wrote it in here,” he admitted at her incredulous expression. “I talked to Leliana about it. You’re shop is going to be the first to offer it.”

Cassandra looked at him for a long moment, dumbstruck. Then she leaned forward, grabbing him and planting her lips against his.


	9. Bookshop AU, anonymous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part Three of Four; "Bookshop AU prompt: Cassandra and Varric's first date"

Generally speaking, Cassandra didn’t randomly kiss people as a rule. Apparently, Varric had been an exception. Fortunately, when she pulled her lips from his, he didn’t seem too upset about it.

“Normally, I would at least ask you on a date first,” he said wryly. Cassandra’s cheeks were pink, and she could hear Cullen trying to make his get-away in the background.

“I apologize,” she said. “I-”

“You should go get coffee with me sometime,” he interrupted, and while Cassandra normally loathed interruptions this was one she wasn’t so upset about.

“As a date?” she asked, hoping for clarification. She needed to know they were on the same page.

“As a date,” he echoed, nodding his head. 

She hesitated for a moment, but finally offered a nod in return. “Alright,” she agreed.

That was how Cassandra found herself sitting with Varric at an old café, eating light food and sipping on coffee that was probably a bit on the ridiculously pricey side but still good nonetheless.

She wasn’t sure how things were going, though. Half of their conversations looped into debates - borderline arguments - on various topics. Half the time she considered reaching over and slapping him upside the head, and his irritating grin whenever he managed to outmaneuver her argument had her cheeks heating up (presumably from anger).

It wasn’t all like that, however. There were moments that were softer, where she saw potential for something really good. She just didn’t know whether the arguments were worth that unknown potential.

They parted ways after a debate regarding who would pay the bill - a question ended with a coin toss that gave the cost to Varric - and no word on whether it would be repeated. He knew where she worked, knew her number, and Cassandra figured that should he be interested he would make the attempt.

Despite everything, however, Cassandra still wasn’t certain _what_ she wanted. That only made it all that much more confusing.


	10. Bookshop AU, anonymous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part Four of Four; "you should totally write cassaric bookshop!au smut"

Despite whatever initial hesitations Cassandra had, she couldn’t deny this: she was infatuated with Varric.

For all that Varric was annoying, she found that their bickering only drew her in. Sometimes she would rather hit him, yes, she wouldn’t deny that, but other times the urge struggled with her desire to kiss him until her lips were swollen and tender. She knew from experience at this point that he was more than capable of making her toes curl when they kissed - which was often.

Idly, she was wondering what else he could do with his mouth. The thought was a very distracting one.

That night she was the last one in the shop, closing down for the night, when there was a knock on the door. It didn’t startle her as much as it might have, if Varric hadn’t texted her earlier mentioning he was going to stop by. When she came from around the desk she spotted him, wrapped in layers against the cold but still managing to have the buttons of his collared shirt undone to an almost absurd amount. 

“Aren’t you cold?” she asked as she pulled the door open, letting him inside.

He scoffed. “Please. It’ll take more than a little wind to get to me.”

Her brow raised as she tried to go for an unamused expression, which was quickly countered by the subtle upturn of her lip: “Your breath was fogging up the window.”

Varric shrugged out of his jacket, setting it out on the counter before leaning against it. “It isn’t snowing,” he said. As if that made it Summer and not the middle of Winter.

“Yes, because that is the only time the weather is cold,” she said, sarcasm dripping from her lips. “Forgive me. I forgot.”

He rolled his eyes, stepping forward and catching her waist. She let him pull her against him, her hands resting on his shoulders. “It’s alright. You’re forgiven.”

“You’re impossible,” she huffed, before ducking to slide her lips against his. His skin was cold, chilling her slightly, but heat was slowly returning to him and as she let her tongue drag over his lip she forgot the temperature entirely. How could it be cold out when he made her feel so warm?

Thick fingers twisted in her shirt, hauling her as close as they could be, and in turn her hand slid into his hair to twist between the silken strands, tugging his head back and letting her teeth press demandingly to his lips. Normally by now they would have stopped, but for some reason they didn’t. His hands dropped to her backside, massaging a path down her thighs before gripping her firmly and lifting her. She gave a shout of surprise - she was a sturdy woman, and wasn’t used to being carted around by anyone, let alone Varric - as he moved to deposit her on top of the high counter.

Images of what could come next flashed through her mind, and she had to bite down hard on her lip to keep herself from pestering him with questions. She would much rather see what he had in mind than here it.

With her fingers still in his hair, nails dragging gently along his scalp, he flipped her shirt up to press his now warm lips to her skin, nipping at her hips as fingers moved over her thighs to pop the button of her jeans. Her heart fluttered under her breast and she arched against him, bracing her hands on the counter as she watched. He tugged down her zipper, lips dancing along her stomach, and when his hands made to tug her pants over her hips she held her weight with her arms, lifting herself so that they slid over her legs and caught on the tops of her boots.

“Shit,” she cursed, moving slightly to kick a shoe off. Varric didn’t seem to mind - his mouth was on her thighs, kissing along the tops slowly until she freed a leg from her jeans enough to hook her thigh over his shoulder.

“Someone’s eager,” he murmured, watching her with a playful twinkle in his eye. 

“Someone is going to be angry if you don’t continue,” Cassandra retorted, using her leg to usher him in close.

Varric laughed but obliged, pressing his lip to the delicate skin along the inside of her thigh. Her eyes closed, a low moan pulling from her throat. That was practically all he had to do - as embarrassing as it might be, Cassandra was half convinced that he could drive her to the edge without even touching her core.

Of course, Varric seemed to pick up on that, and as such took his sweet time paying attention to her thighs - licking, nipping, sucking, dragging fingers over her skin as she whimpered above him. Her hands were stuck to the counter, clenching hard as she tried not to move, and God but if he kept going she wasn’t certain she was going to able to be even remotely quiet.

He moved, leaving behind him a litany of bruises as his mouth finally pressed against her, his tongue sliding over the seam of her, and the sound that pulled from her could only be described as a whine.

His hands gripped her hips, keeping her close even as she rocked against his tongue, her mouth open and begging as he sucked her clit between his lips and made her mewl. She was close already, and he had barely touched her, and that smug bastard knew.

Varric’s fingers found her, tracing her as his lips teased her clit, sinking into her and curling upwards. She cried out, his name falling reverently from her lips, her entire body awash with pleasure as she came. He kept his mouth pressed to her, soft and coaxing, until she had to twist her fingers in his hair and physically pull him back. His lips didn’t stay abandoned for long - she kissed him, hard and demanding, and when she pulled back he looked like the cat that got the canary.

“You’re impossible,” she huffed.

“Perhaps,” he agreed. “But you like it.”

Despite all her attempts at keeping her face neutral, her eyes gave her affections away, as always.


	11. Varric's Tunic, anonymous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "the best kind of cassaricis tunic-wearing cassandra so... something happens to her clothes while out of skyhold and cassandra has to borrow varrics tunic until she has clothes again?"

Of all the people Varric had expected to find at his door, Leliana was not one of them. He raised a brow. “Uh, hello, Nightingale,” he said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Cassandra sent me,” she said. “I need one of your shirts.”

Varric blinked. “You need - what?” Was Leliana pranking him?

“A shirt,” she repeated herself patiently. Varric had no idea what was going on.

“Uh - sure, I guess?” he agreed. “But why didn’t she just ask me herself?”

“She can’t leave her room,” Leliana said. Varric was officially confused.

“You know, I’m just - I’ll take her one of my shirts,” he said. He needed answers. Leliana sighed, but nodded.

“If she throws you out of the room, that’s your fault,” she said ominously, before turning and heading away. Varric was not any less confused. He scooped up one of his shirts before making the trek across Skyhold to her room. He knocked on the door, and it creaked open just enough for him to see a sliver of Cassandra’s face. She blinked down at him before opening the door wide enough to come through.

“Hurry,” she said shortly. Varric entered, turning to glance at her as she closed the door. She was wrapped in her sheet.

“Uh, not that I’m not enjoying the view,” he said, “But why are you wearing a sheet?”

“Someone stole my clothes,” Cassandra said, reaching out to pull the shirt from his grip. He let her, watching as she tossed her sheet back onto her bed and pulled the overly-large tunic over her head. It was only marginally more covering. “Leliana is too thin - none of her shirts fit. Vivienne doesn’t _have_ any plain clothes. Josephine is too little, as well, and the Inquisitor is with Cullen. So, I had Leliana get you.”

"What about pants?” Varric asked. “Just my shirt isn’t going to do you much good.”

At that, there was a knock on the door. Cassandra spun around, cracking the door open once more, and then Leliana stepped through. She glanced to Varric before looking to Cassandra, holding out an offering of black fabric. “Krem had some spare pants.”

“Thank the Maker for Krem,” Cassandra breathed. The man was closer to her stature than anyone else. She took the fabric and wasted no time in pulling the pants on one leg at a time. Leliana raised a brow.

“If you plan on leaving the room, might I suggest you not lean over?” she asked. “Unless you plan on flashing half of the Inquisition.”

Cassandra huffed, lifting her fingers and fiddling with the buttons to close his shirt. Varric mourned the loss of skin, but figured that wasn’t appropriate for the moment.

“Do you have any idea who took them?” Cassandra asked, looking now to Leliana.

“Not yet,” the Nightingale said, “but I have a few ideas.”

“Oh?” Her brow arched.

Leliana lifted her hand, ticking off on her fingers: “Iron Bull. Dorian. Sera.”

Cassandra’s nose twisted up. “Do you have anything more specific?” she asked.

“Give me time and I’ll find your clothes, Cassandra,” Leliana assured her. “In the meantime - try not to kill anyone?”

Varric knew, even without Cassandra’s half-hearted grunt, that the Left Hand was perhaps asking for too much. Regardless, he was going to enjoy sticking around to watch the conclusion.


	12. Hogwarts AU, valroyoreo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Cassaric Hogwarts AU?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So what I have here are the DA:2/DA:I crew as students. DA:2 students (barring Varric) are in 6th year, DA:I students are 7th years. With some exceptions, of course. Warning: this does discuss some dark themes ala the Harry Potter Universe (implied torture being among them).

Varric had always had a keen sense for survival, unlike some of his friends. Hawke, for example, had no good sense when it came to keeping out of trouble, and it was usually smooth talking and a few lies on Varric’s part that got her out of trouble. Such as the time where Hawke flooded the 3rd floor bahtrooms with slime.

Well, actually, she’d been trying to stop some third year students from filling the 3rd floor bathroom with slime, but in doing so she managed to set off the slime-bomb anyway. The perpetrators had been caught in the blast and suctioned to the walls, and the only thing that sparred Hawke an unjust stay in detention was Varric’s quick-thinking. ‘ _Professor Duncan, I can assure you that Hawke was with me down by the lake studying for our Defense practical next week.’_

Hawke was a Gryffindor, of course, and though Duncan never played favorites, he did appreciate when his students were taking his classes seriously. It saved Hawke’s skin more than once.

This was a little different, though. Someone - that someone being a particularly rebellious Slytherin by the name of Anders - had blown up a hallway. Literally.

Varric had covered for him as best as he could, saying that Anders had been with him and Hawke in the library, but one of the first years had a different claim. Unfortunately, Varric’s friendship with the Slytherin only acted to harm them. His testimonial was discredited, and now the professors were on the search for the student.

He was just making to take a well-deserved nap when a hand caught his shoulder, spinning him around and practically shoving him into the wall. He looked up, groaning when he recognized the face in question.

Cassandra Pentaghast was the Head Girl - a Hufflepuff who debunked the myth that all the house was made up of happy, friendly faces. She was stern, and took her position a little too seriously. He didn’t have to ask to know what this was about. The school had a collective nickname for her - Seeker, as she spent much of her time seeking after any sliver of information regarding the various rule-breakers in Hogwart’s halls. “What do you want, Cassandra?” he asked.

“Where is Anders?” she demanded.

“Now what makes you think I know the answer to that?” he asked, crossing his arms stubbornly over his chest. Bianca was tucked under his robe, and though he doubted he would need his wand it was nice to know it was within reach.

“You lied about where he was to Duncan,” she said sternly. “Meaning you know something.”

“Now, Seeker,” he said evenly, slipping into his lie with practiced ease, “I never lied to Duncan. Anders really was with me in the library.” It wasn’t a total lie - they had been in the library together an hour before the explosion. No one could blame Varric if he got the times a little wrong. “We were researching something for potions. We’re partners, you know?”

“Stop lying,” she ordered shortly, glaring.

“Look, Seeker, if you think I’m so untrustworthy, then why not ask someone else?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“Because you’re their friend,” she said slowly. “And I can’t find Hawke to question them about it, either.”

“What a shame,” he said dryly.

Cassandra wasn’t even remotely amused. “Anders collapsed an entire hallway,” she said, her voice stern and brokering no room for argument. “Someone could have gotten seriously injured. If it weren’t for Madam Giselle-“

“Look, Seeker, I understand why you’re upset,” he interrupted in an even tone. “But I don’t know where they are.”

“But you know where they might be,” she countered. “Hawke is your best friend. Where would they be?”

Varric rolled his eyes. “In order to understand Hawke, you have to know her,” he said.

“Then help me know her,” she demanded. “I have time.”

Merlins beard, she was relentless. He shook his head. “That’s great for you, but I don’t. I have class.”

“When does your class let out?” she asked.

“In an hour,” he said slowly. “What, are you going to wait for me?”

“If that is what it takes,” she crossed her arms over her chest.

Varric was caught in disbelief. He shook his head. “Has anyone ever told you that you take your job too seriously?” he asked.

“I don’t see how that’s relevant,” Cassandra huffed.

Varric took that as a yes.

* * *

Despite Varric’s stern refusal to offer Cassandra any useful information, Anders had come out of the shadows before the day was out. Hawke had convinced him it was the right thing to do. Headmaster Justinia was understanding, but this was a matter in which she couldn’t take things lightly.

Hawke tried to defend her friend - Anders was dealing with a lot of stress. The war was barring down on the students, on their families. The Head Boy - Cullen Rutherford - had been called home when some of his family members wound up in St. Mungos. They were alive, last Varric heard, and Cullen was out of school for the week while he stayed with his family. Fenris lost his family over the break, and though no one knew exactly who the cause of it was everyone had figured out that the only Dark Wizard capable of that level of brutality was Danarius. Fenris had never been a cheery guy, but now his white-blonde hair had matching white scars over most of his body.

Somehow, Hawke managed to get close to him. Otherwise, Fenris was even more taciturn than he had been before.

There was also a rumor going around - though Varric didn’t know the validity of it - that Cassandra had lost boyfriend in the first semester. The name tossed around was Regalyan, but if it happened Cassandra showed now indication of it.

He was getting off topic, though: the point was that the War was hell and no student was exempt from it. Anders was taking it harder than most. He was a muggle born, given up for adoption when he started showing magical talent, and had lived most his life in the system. Being on the suffering end of nation-wide persecution was enough to make anyone snap, and Anders had the added bulk of what Varric was reasonably certain was an undiagnosed personality disorder. You could only throw so much at a person before they broke, and Anders had lasted longer than Varric thought most people would.

The end result was the same, though: Anders was expelled, and Varric found himself neck-deep in a stupid plan to help him get out of the castle before they snapped his wand. It came with the aid of a special little map.

Back in his early years, he and a few other roguish characters - Isabela, Zevran, and Leliana - had taken their combined knowledge of the castle (which was extensive) and put it together into a map. It was the only accurate representation of Hogwarts Castle, and it went further than other maps inso that it also told you who was where. The map was instrumental in their ability to sneak Anders out of the castle and into Hogsmeade.

By now, Anders was probably in Maui, or wherever he’d decided to apparate to. And Varric knew that, if he didn’t have the Seeker breathing down his neck before, he certainly was in for trouble now.

Cassandra was relentless for the first few days, before the teachers realized that the only place Anders could have gone was outside the castle. Varric practically ran into her every other day, and each time without fail she would interrogate him.

He managed to distract her with stories, each claiming to have a point just to get her to listen, and the end of each story just so happened to coincide with the beginning of one of his classes. She’d even gone so far as to sit at the Ravenclaw table at lunch to pester him with questions.

The Head Girl now knew the story of how he and Hawke met, the nitty gritty about his friends relationship with Fenris, Merrill’s enchanted mirror that took three weeks to charm only to wind up breaking, Aveline’s botched attempt at asking Donnic out, and Isabela’s theft of a first edition book worth enough money for her to retire happily.

(The last one had caught Cassandra’s attention, but Varric had quickly informed her that Hawke had convinced Isabela to do the right thing and return it and there was no reason for Cassandra to go snooping about that).

By the time the search was called off and Justinia was forced to accept that Anders was long-gone, Cassandra knew more about Varric’s friends than she perhaps ever wanted to and absolutely nothing about where Anders may or may not be. All in all, Varric considered it a success.

* * *

Weeks passed. The war got worse. Cullen never returned to school. The Cousland family was killed, all save for the youngest daughter - Elissa, Varric thought her name was. She’d been head girl his fifth year. Hawke lost her mother, leaving her the only one capable of taking care of her younger siblings. Varric’s brother was in St. Mungos, mind scrambled beyond help so far as the nurses could say.

 The Minister for Magic, Cailin Theirin, was killed - betrayed by one of the Ministiry’s own. And then, as if the world could only keep getting worse, Justinia - the headmaster herself - was asked to step up and fight against Corypheus - the mad wizard who had started the whole war.

It was finals week, and the first news they heard was that Justinia was dead. Corypheus’ body was missing, and no one knew what to do. It was possible he was dead. It was possible he was not.

Varric and Cassandra, who hadn’t spoken for weeks, found themselves sitting by the lake in silence, watching the water ripple towards the shore. For a long moment they were quiet.

“Rumor has it the Inquisition is still working,” he said. “They’re looking to find a new leader, but, they’re still hanging on. Corypheus is gone, but there are still a lot of messes left to clean up.”

“I’m joining them,” Cassandra said resolutely, face stern and focused. “I do not believe this is over yet.”

Varric looked at her, brow raised. “Oh? Why is that?”

She looked at him, and for the first time Varric realized that beyond her taciturn nature, there was something softer there. Something that felt. He had always figured that her tough shell was a charade - but seeing the proof was a little different. “So long as men like Corypheus exist, the Inquisition will be needed,” she said. “And so long as the Inquisition needs people to fight, then I will be there to offer my assistance.”

He looked at her for a long moment, considering his options before giving a heavy sigh. “Well. Shit. I guess I’ll see you there.”

Her brows jumped up. “You would join the Inquisition?” she asked, incredulous. 

“Shit, someone has to do something,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “Might as well be me, while I’m thinking of it. Besides, Bianca needs a good duel every now and again.”

Cassandra shook her head slowly. “You are, perhaps, the strangest man I have ever met,” she informed him.

“Yeah, well,” he shrugged. “You’re not exactly par for the course yourself.”

To his great surprise, she smiled at him, and it made his heart skip a beat.

Shit. He was screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PROFESSORS:
> 
> Greagoir (Transfiguration)  
> Wynne (Potions) (Head of Ravenclaw House)  
> Riordan (Charms)  
> Zathrian (Herbology)  
> Irving (Astronomy)  
> Duncan (DADA) (Head of Gryffindor House)  
> Elthina (History of Magic) (Head of Hufflepuff House)  
> Justinia (Headmaster)  
> Flemeth (Divination) (Head of Slytherin House)  
> Isolde Guerrin (Arithmancy)  
> Marathari (CoMC)  
> Marlowe Dumar (Muggle Studies)  
> Tegan Guerrin (Ancient Runes)  
> Madam Giselle (Nurse)  
> HUFFLEPUFF: Merrill (6), Cassandra (7), Cole (7), Eowyn (7)
> 
> GRYFFINDOR: Hawke (6), Aveline (6), Carver (5), Iron Bull (7), Cullen (7), Blackwall (7), Sera (7)
> 
> RAVENCLAW: Isabela (6), Bethany (5), Varric (7), Dorian (7), Josephine (7)
> 
> SLYTHERIN: Zevran (7), Anders, (6) Fenris (6), Leliana (7), Vivienne (7), Solas (7)
> 
> Elissa Wand: Beech wood,   
> Alistair Wand:  
> Morrigan Wand:  
> Sten Wand:  
> Oghren Wand:  
> Zevran Wand: Dogwood, Dragon Heartstring, 13”, Swishy  
> Hawke Wand: Alder wood, Phoenix Feather 13”, Swishy  
> Fenris Wand: Acacia wood, Veela hair, 10”, Unyielding  
> Anders Wand: Aspen wood, Dragon Heartstring, 11”, Rigid  
> Isabela Wand: Chestnut wood, Dragon Heartstring, 13”, Swishy  
> Aveline Wand: Blackthorn wood, Dragon Heartstring, 9”, Rigid  
> Merrill Wand: Vine wood, Unicorn Hair, 10”, Unyielding  
> Varric Wand: Pear wood, Unicorn Hair, 14”, Swishy  
> Cassandra Wand: Ash wood, Dragon Heartstring, 10”, Unyielding  
> Cole Wand: Yew wood, Unicorn Hair, 9", Swishy*  
> Iron Bull Wand: Black Walnut Wood, Dragon Heartstring, 12", Swishy*  
> Cullen Wand: Rowan/Fir Wood, Unicorn Hair, 10", Unyielding*  
> Blackwall Wand: Blackthorn wood, Griffon Feather, 8”, Rigid*  
> Sera Wand: Dogwood, Unicorn Hair, 8", Rigid*  
> Dorian Wand: Elm Wood, Unicorn Hair, 9", Swishy*  
> Josephine Wand: Elm Wood, Unicorn Hair, 9", Swishy*  
> Trevelyan Wand: Elder Wood, Phoenix Feather, 10", Unyielding*  
> Leliana Wand: Cedar Wood, Unicorn Hair, 10", Unyielding*  
> Vivienne Wand: Laurel Wood, Unicorn Hair, 9", Rigid*  
> Solas Wand: Pine Wood, Dragon Heartstring, 11", Swishy*  
> *these wands are subject to change upon further review


	13. Blind Date AU, anonymous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part One of Two; "Cassandra is a stern college student, set up on a blind date who turns out to be Varric?"

Cassandra hated blind dates. Ever since she and Regalyan had ended things, however, that was all Josephine seemed able to do. The woman meant well, but it never actually went well.

There had been Cullen, which (while Cassandra had absolutely nothing against) had resulted in nothing more than friendship. She was too firm, he was too soft, and though she appreciated him endlessly it didn’t seem to fit. He was now dating an english major that Cassandra had inadvertently introduced him to.

She was happy for them, of course. They complimented each other well. It was still ironic, however, that she had wound up setting her date up with someone else.

Josephine had promised, however, that this was different. “He’s like no one I’ve introduced you to before,” she had said. “I promise. This will be different.”

So she had agreed. Now she was sitting in one of the local pubs, beer stein in hand, waiting. She was early. She hadn’t meant to be early, of course, but part of her was expecting this to fail. The sooner they met, the sooner she could leave.

The chair beside her scooted back and she glanced over, watching as an unfamiliar face.

“Is someone sitting here?” the man asked. She shook her head.

“No, go ahead,” she said. The seat on her other side was still open for whenever her date decided to show up.

They sat silently for a moment, Cassandra watching the clock tick closer and closer to when she was supposed to meet the man in question. All she knew was his name was Varric.

“You look unhappy,” the man finally said, glancing towards her. “You alright?”

Cassandra nodded. “Yes - I’m fine. Just waiting. My suite-mate seems to enjoy meddling with my life.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah. I know how that is.”

She raised a brow, considering him for a moment. “You…wouldn’t happen to be Varric, would you?”

That caught his attention. He nodded. “I’m guessing that makes you Cassandra, then?”

She nodded. “That’s me. You’re early.”

“So are you,” he returned. “Normally, I would be hurt you look so disinterested, but considering it’s not just you…”

She chuckled. “Sorry. This is the eighth date Josephine’s set me up on this year.”

At that he whistled under his breath. “Yeah. I don’t blame you there. I might have just gone into hiding.”

“We share a bathroom,” she informed him. “Unless I start using other peoples showers, that’s going to be impossible.”

“Might be worth a try,” he said. “Josephine is pretty insistent, isn’t she?”

“That doesn’t even cover the half of it,” she said wryly. “But Leliana is worse. Fortunately, she’s taking a break from trying to play match maker.”

“So I have a proposition for you, then,” he said. “You tell Josephine the date went well. I tell Josephine the date went well. She stops harassing us.”

Cassandra relaxed exponentially. “Oh, thank god. Yes.”


	14. Blind Date AU, anonymous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part Two of Two; "AU prompts? idk like modern AU with Cassaric going on an ice skating date?? i'm just pictuing cassandra slipping around everywhere and varric holding her hips to keep her upright and its adorable."

When Varric and Cassandra had agreed to just tell Josephine that the date had gone well, they anticipated their relationship - or potential relationship - would just end there. They saw each other, smiled, chatted, but never really went out of their way to interact with each other.

Despite all that, they kept bumping into each other. The latest event was at an ice skating rink - which Cassandra had been dragged to unwittingly by Josephine even though Josephine _knew_  full well that Cassandra didn’t know how.

As it was, she stood against the railing, borrowed skates made up of a horrible motley of colours gripped loosely in her hand as she watched Josephine skate around.

“Well. I can’t say I expected to see you here,” a familiar voice came from her side. She turned, spotting Varric sitting on the bench and situating his skates. “You skate?”

Cassandra scoffed. “Hardly. Josephine asked me to come.”

“What, and you’re not even skating?” he grinned facetiously. “How rude.”

“And you can skate?” she asked.

“Yup,” he stood, unphased by her lack of faith. Standing, he was still shorter than her by a decent amount. Cassandra had always been tall, though. “I’m a jack of all trades.”

She rolled her eyes, turning her attention back to the rink. Josephine looked as graceful as always, golden skirts swirling around as she skated.

“I can teach you, you know,” Varric offered. “If you put on your skates, at least.”

She raised a brow, looking to him. “You say that as if there’s any hope of me learning,” she said.

“Well I’m no expert,” he allowed, “But I can get you going in a straight line. Might even manage teaching you how to turn.”

Varric was grinning at her and after a hesitant moment she nodded. “Alright. Fine.”

She moved to the bench, putting on her skates as Varric waited for her. When she made to step onto the ice, though, she almost immediately lost her balance and latched onto the railing. Varric laughed, moving to help support her weight. Shorter though he may be, he was still quite strong, and though she was solidly built he showed no issue in steadying her.

“Alright?” he asked. She exhaled slowly before nodding.

“I think,” she agreed.

“Alright, you’re gonna have to relax,” he instructed. “Follow my lead.”

She did as he instructed, her hand pressed to his shoulder in a death grip as she worked on her balance. She wasn’t clumsy - not by any means - but this required a certain amount of grace. Grace wasn’t something she had, unless she was kickboxing.

When she said as much, Varric looked at her with an impressed expression. “You kickbox?”

“I do,” she agreed. “Very well.”

He grinned roguishly and, for some reason, it made her heart flutter under her breast. “Remind me not to get on your bad side, Lioness.”

After a long moment he pulled away, despite the small panic it set in her stomach. “Don’t worry,” he assured her, moving behind her and keeping his hands on her waist. “It’ll be easier for you to figure it out like this.”

“If you say so,” she murmured.

It was true, though. He guided her and she slowly got the hang of it. Until, of course, he pulled his hands away. Anxiety set in immediately, her balance shifting for an instant, but that instant was all she needed. She cried out in shock, her body toppling back. She tried to turn, to catch his shoulder and steady herself again, but she was two slow and her body collided with his. They went down with a thud, Cassandra landing on top of him.

“You know,” he said, winded. “Generally falling is a bad idea.”

“It was an accident,” she protested, pushing herself up and looking at him in concern. “Are you alright?”

Varric rubbed the back of his head as he sat up, and Cassandra was starkly aware of how close that put his face to hers. She swallowed. “I’ve had worse,” he assured her. “How about you?”

She hesitated, wetting her lips. “I, uh. I’ll be fine. If I ever get up again.”

He grinned, and there was a moment of silence. Then Cassandra leaned in, pressing their lips together despite her better judgement.

To her relief, he didn’t pull away. He didn’t exactly respond at first either, but when she considered pulling back he pressed closer, sliding his lips against hers.

It was cold, though, and as much as she would like to explore that option, she was starting to lose feeling in her legs. She pulled away, cheeks pink from the cold and the kiss. “Was that alright?” she asked, a bit hesitantly.

After a moment he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, it was,” he agreed. “But, and this might be a crazy idea, maybe we could wait until we’re not sitting on ice to do that again?”

She grinned slowly. “I think we can manage that.”


	15. Mabari, anonymous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Varric gets a Mabari, Cassandra is not pleased outwardly, he catches her playing with the dog"

Cassandra was wondering why she had ever thought becoming the Divine would be a good idea. Not that she hadn’t done wonderful things - no, Cassandra had succeeded at her goals when she took office. The only problem was that she was _bored_. Politics weren’t her forte, in any realm, and it was only her carefully picked council that made anything remotely easy. On her own, she would have no doubt said just the wrong thing to incite infighting.

Of course, that wasn’t to say there was no infighting. Just that there wasn’t and _worse_ infighting. 

“Cassandra?” Leliana, still acting as the Left Hand of the Divine, stepped forward. She looked pleased, which usually meant good news. “Someone is here to visit.”

“ _Someone_?” she asked, brow raising and a sliver of hope running through her.

“I told them to wait in your quarters,” she said. “And since your meetings for the day are taken care of…”

Cassandra had half a mind to kiss Leliana. As it was she stood. “Thank you,” she said.

Leliana watched as Cassandra hurried off. No matter how long she sat on the throne, she never did quite lose the gait of a warrior. It certainly made the dress look funny.

* * *

When she reached her chambers - hat tugged off of her head and hair slightly suffering from the containment - she had expected Varric. She had not expected the mabari pup rolling around on the floor, trying to yank a frayed rope from the dwarves hands.

“Why is there a dog?” she asked, confused. Varric looked up at her.

“Why hello, Varric,” he said, changing his pitch to mock her voice. “It’s good to see you again. It’s been a few weeks.”

Cassandra shook her head, setting her hat aside and moving in close to kiss him soundly on the lips. His hands found her hips, resting there with familiar ease, and she pulled back with raised brow. “Is that a more suitable greeting?” she asked.

He grinned. “A hello would still be nice,” he teased.

Rolling her eyes, Cassandra stepped back again. “Hello, Varric,” she said. “How was Kirkwall?”

“Oh, you know, same as ever. Brown. Dry. The Hanged Man is the same, though.”

“And Aveline?” she asked. It was the few of his friends who still resided in Kirkwall.

“As bossy as ever. A little less so, now that she’s got kids to herd around town,” he explained. “But she’s busy a lot. Guard Captain isn’t an easy job.”

She felt something laying on her feet and looked down to see the pup - temporally forgotten - staring up at her. She looked to Varric: “Am I allowed to ask about the dog now?”

“Things were getting too quiet,” he said. “His owner was trying to sell him, and it was between me and a breeder who has a less than inspiring reputation. Figured I could add ‘mabari owner’ to my list of traits.”

She watched the dog, fairly unimpressed. She didn’t remark on him though. Varric visited her as often as he was able - which was fairly regularly - but she knew that the time between his travels could get quiet. If the mabari kept him company, who was she to complain?

“He isn’t sleeping in the bed,” she said, looking back to him. Varric snorted.

“Please. I’m not Hawke.”

* * *

Cassandra sat quietly in the gardens, one of the few places where she was allowed some modcium of privacy. Only this time, Varric’s mabari pup had wandered out with her. At first she’d ignored him when he begged for attention, rolling at her feet and pawing at her legs, until finally she relented, reaching down to pet it’s head.

Things had spiraled from there. Somehow she wound up sitting on the floor, the dog curled up in her lap snoring away as she scratched behind his ears. At first she didn’t hear Varric approach.

“Looks like someone’s trying to steal my dog,” he teased, coming up to sit beside her. Cassandra huffed, cheeks turning pink.

“He was relentless,” she defended. “This is the only way he would stay calm.”

“Sure it was,” he said, grinning slightly. “If that’s what helps you sleep at night.


	16. Love Bite, anonymous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Cassarric, a wayward love bite a little too high above Cassandra's collar that neither of them notice."

Cassandra hated formalwear. Dresses rarely allowed her the full range of motion she preferred, but at least this one had a slit up the side that allowed her regain some control of her legwork. Fortunately, this event wasn’t supposed to last long, and the security - provided by Cullen - was more than adequate for the event should things go south.

Still. She would have preferred it had she been allowed to wear her armor.

As she walked something caught on her shoe, sticking the bottom to the ground. She cursed, pushing the fabric of her dress aside and lifting her heel to inspect the sole of her shoe. She didn’t notice the unusual length of thigh the dress revealed, nor the mottled bruise that rested slightly closer to her knee than all the others.

“Hey, Seeker, what’s that?”

Cassandra straightened slightly, ankle still gripped in her hand, turning and looking at the Iron Bull in confusion. “What are you talking about?” she asked. She wasn’t sure she liked that expression on his face - it was far to mischievous for her liking.

“That mark there,” he said, pointing to her thigh. She glanced down, eyes widening as she quickly let her foot return to the ground, hand moving to fix the skirt of her dress.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said shortly. 

The Qunari raised a brow, grinning still. “Sure you don’t.”


	17. Anders Defense Squad, anonymous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Cassarric, Varric defending Anders from her when he shows up in Skyhold"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this one with queen-isabela-oftheeasternseas. She was Varric and Hawke, I was Anders and Cassandra.

Varric had had an idea about Anders showing up when Hawke had shown up without him. Blondie was nothing if not stubborn. And now, here he was in the middle of Skyhold. The expression on Hawke’s face when she had come down from the battlements had been one of sheer joy which had instantly changed into aggravation and concern. Now, the three stood talking around Varric’s table.

As for Cassandra, the day had, overall, been fairly relaxed. She considered it a blessing. However, as fate often had it, the peace didn’t last for long when she stepped into Skyhold.

“Shit,” Varric cursed.

 The Seeker’s eyes landed on Varric and Hawke, and she nearly froze when she saw a third, unfamiliar figure. Her eyes darted over him, trying to place him - blonde hair, tall, slightly scruffy, mage robes…the blood in her veins turned to ice. She moved forward, perhaps despite her better judgment. “Please tell me that is not who I think that is,” she said shortly.

There was no use lying to her. She had read the Tale of the Champion, and there was plenty of description of Anders in it. “Seeker… meet Blondie,” Varric said, trying to keep calm.

Anders looked up from his conversation, not recognizing her but placing her as the Seeker from some of Hawke’s letters from Varric. “Well, she looks happy,” he said sarcastically. He could only  _imagine_  why she wasn’t. He had to be honest though - he wasn’t used to people recognizing him. “Is everyone in the Inquisition so nice?”

Hawke immediately placed herself between Anders and Cassandra at his quip. “You can’t really blame her, can you? Did you forget the little stunt you pulled in Kirkwall so soon, love?” Even as she said it, her fingers curled with Anders’.

Cassandra narrowed her eyes, looking between Hawke and Anders before looking to Varric. “ _Why_  is he here?” she demanded.

The Dwarf raised a brow. “Now, Seeker. I thought you read _the Tale of the Champion._ Did you miss the whole ‘drown us in blood’ thing? Do you really have to ask why he’s here?”

“Hawke is here,” Anders answered, though the question hadn’t been directed at him. He was still capable of defending himself. “I don’t make a habit of going where she isn’t.”

The Champion sighed. “Even if it means being really stupid and coming out of hiding and right to a group of people who could easily imprison him.”

Cassandra clenched her jaw, trying very hard to keep back her knee jerk reaction (which involved punching Anders across the jaw). “Do you have any idea what position this puts the Inquisition in?” she hissed, looking between the three of them. “We’ve already got backlash from siding with the mages, and we’re lucky that settled over as it did. Now housing a terrorist?” She shook her head. “No. This is too far.”

Varric stepped up to his lover, eyes hard. “Don’t call him that,” he said tightly.

Though Anders didn’t flinch at her words (he’d been called worse, after all), a sliver of anxiety went through him. He didn’t regret coming, of course. Hawke was all he had. But he didn’t need Varric getting up in arms over a word.

Regardless, he didn’t say anything. He had nothing too say - nothing that would help.

“Please, Seeker. Anders is no threat to you or the Inquisition,” Hawke said levally.

Cassandra met Varric’s gaze, her own equally unwavering. Perhaps her words were too harsh - but it is what they were. It was what he was. She shook her head. "It is asking for too much.” She said shortly, ignoring his request.

Varric shook his head. “What Blondie did was shitty. We all know that. But he made his point. He can’t take it back, now, but Hawke’s right in saying that he isn’t a threat anymore. And, believe it or not, before all the Justice bullshit, he was my friend. Still is, actually.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “And you’ve said yourself that the Chantry needs reform. You may not have blown one up to express that, but is the idea really all that radical to you?”

“Varric, it’s fine,” Anders said, a hint of pleading in his tone..

Hawke shook her head at Anders. She wanted to explain why Varric would likely be the best one to plead Anders’ defense to this woman, but it didn’t really seem like the time. Maker’s Breath, she was just hoping they didn’t run into Vivienne. She was willing to believe that Leliana would be the least angry. But Vivienne…

Whatever goal Varric had tried to achieve with his words failed, quite miserably. Cassandra reeled in her anger, bristling. The fact that he was trying to compare Anders to herself - to align their ideals - was enraging. So much so that she had to recognize that her anger wasn’t going to let her think clearly about this. It wasn’t going to keep her responses from veering out of line. She shook her head. “I am not talking about this any more,” she snapped. “You explain to the Inquisitor why he is here.” That said, she turned, and set a path towards the training grounds.

Varric sighed as Cassandra walked away, letting his arms drop. He was going to pay for that later. “That went well,” he said bleakly.

…

Varric hadn’t bothered with Cassandra for a long while after Anders had arrived. After all, it had been hard work getting people to be okay with the mage’s presence. The Inquisitor had been fairly easy to sway, as had Hero, Sparkler, Tiny, and Buttercup. Curly and Ruffles had been a little more difficult to convince, but the Inquisitor had made it happen. And then there was the Iron Lady. Maker, Varric had never felt such trepidation. Vivienne had not been particularly kind. But, true to Orlesian fashion, she hadn’t gotten heated. He could just see the icy rage in her. Best to keep Anders far away from her in the future. And now, he had to talk to Lioness again. Try to get her to see his perspective as Anders’ friend. And Hawke’s, for that matter. This was what found him in front of her bedroom door, knocking lightly.

Cassandra looked up from her desk, where she had been focused half-heartedly on the various papers she had to shuffle through. “Come in,” she called. She didn’t know for sure who it was, but only a small handful of people had taken to visiting her in her quarters. That made it fairly easy to guess.

The door swung open and Varric stepped inside, closing it behind him. His back rested against he wood as he watched her. Cassandra sighed slightly.

“Hey,” he greeted.

“Varric,” she greeted, setting her papers aside to focus on him. She didn’t know what else to say. It wasn’t often they fought. It was strange.

Considering his words carefully, he finally said: “I’m not going to apologize for what I said.” Watching her face, he continued, “But I’m sorry you got put into this position if only because it makes you uncomfortable. Blondie… can be a touchy subject for a lot of people.”

Cassandra huffed slightly. “That would be putting it mildly,” she said dryly. She shook her head. “It’s not  _your_  fault. You have nothing to apologize for. I lost my temper.”

There was no disputing that. Varric nodded. “Still felt the need to come talk to you anyway,” he replied.

Quietly, she nodded. She wasn’t sure what to say. She’d never been good at this. Talking. Her words never seemed to be the right ones. “It’s appreciated.”

Sensing the danger had passed, Varric moved farther into the room. “Good,” he said, coming to lean against her desk so that he could study her. “For what it’s worth, he really is only here for Hawke.”

“I know,” she said with a sigh. “I don’t like it any more, though.”

Varric chuckled. “I thought not. Few are more stubborn than you are. But Hawke is my best friend. You have to understand where I’m coming from with that in mind, right?”

“Of course I understand,” she said. “It’s just…difficult.”

Varric nodded. “I get it. If you want, we can just drop it. Arguing over it is pointless, and it’ll just make us angry.”

Cassandra sighed and nodded, rubbing her forehead. “That’s probably for the best.”

Noting her action, he raised a brow. “Did something other than me give you a headache, Lioness?” he asked her teasingly.

Motioning towards the disorganized piles on her desk, she said wryly: “The joys of paperwork.”

He caught her hand with his. “I can try to help with that, if you want.”

Cassandra twisted their fingers together, smiling slightly. “Oh? What do you have in mind?”

Varric grinned. “How about I show you?” With that, he pulled her up out of her chair and blew out the candle on the desk.


	18. Moaning, anonymous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Cassarric: They have a little rivalry going where they try to see who can make who moan/scream louder."

Cassandra’s fingers twisted in the sheets, her teeth biting into her lip as she tried her best to keep quiet. So far, it was working, but Makers breath, Varric wasn’t making it easy.

It wasn’t fair. She knew that much. Varric was quieter - made up of soft sighs and subtle groans - and she was louder. Moans, groans, whimpers; a litany of noises escaped her when they were together, some soft and some loud, and she had learned long ago that no matter what she did she couldn’t get Varric to make any noise louder than hers.

So, she fought to keep them back. She’d gotten one good groan from him earlier, and she knew that if she tried-

His palm pressed flat against her abdomen, pressing down as his tongue circled her clit. Cassandra’s arm immediately flew over her mouth and she bit down on her forearm, muffling the desperate whine he pulled from her.

If she could just hold out a while longer - she was already close - then she could  _win._ All she needed was to keep her mouth shut.

But Varric was relentless and skilled, two traits that, when put together, led only to trouble. His finger curled inside of her, pressing up and rubbing in just the right place, and her back arched as her cry caught in her throat.

Just a few more moments, just a little more and she would win-

Pleasure slammed into her and despite all her desperation, a loud moan ripped from her throat and broke the muffled silence. She didn’t even fully realize she had made any sort of sound until her mind returned to itself and she caught sight of Varric’s smug expression.

“Don’t look so smug,” she grumbled, even as a smile pulled at her lips. She sat up, kissing him before he could so much as retort.


	19. Ser Aveline; anonymous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "prompt idea if you're still doing 'em - Cassandra meets Aveline on a trip to Kirkwall, and gets the weird impression it's like being introduced to Varric's parents. Bonus points if at some point she realizes the inspiration for Swords and Shields, and has to deal with that on top of everything else"

Cassandra was certain that she had never met Aveline Vallen before. She was beyond certain - she would remember someone like her. But despite that, she couldn’t help but think that the guardswoman was incredibly - impossibly - familiar.

Aside from that, however, there was the unnecessary stress of feeling like she was trying to earn the woman’s approval. For what? Cassandra could only guess.

She respected the guard captain greatly, however. Aveline was a woman of immense strength. Cassandra, in truth, saw several similarities between them - though they were brought about in different ways.

“I figured you would like Aveline,” Varric said casually as they left the city. Cassandra raised a brow, looking to him.

“Why is that?” she asked.

“Well, she’s the basis for Swords and Shields,” he said, looking to her. “What, you didn’t figure that out on your own?”

Cassandra froze midstep, and Varric kept walking.

“Wait, what?” Cassandra hurried to catch up. “What do you  _mean_ she’s the inspiration? You can’t just  _tell_ me that and not elaborate!”

“What more do you want?” Varric looked to her, brow raised. “She’s the inspiration behind the Guard Captain.”

Cassandra was about to have a fit. Based on his expression, Varric found it hilarious.

“So what you’re saying…is I just met the real life equivalent of the Guard Captain?” she asked.

“Yup,” Varric agreed.

Cassandra had no idea how to process that. She walked quietly, brain whirling, and Varric was sincerely worried he’d broken her for a moment.

“Dammit!” she cursed. “Why didn’t you  _say?”_

“I thought you knew!” he reiterated. “What does it matter?”

Her cheeks flushed. “I could have gotten her to sign my copy.”

Varric broke into peals of laughter that didn’t even stop after she slapped his shoulder.

 


	20. Stargazing, anonymous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Cassarric: Stargazing"

Cassandra and Varric sat out on yard, each on their own stools, staring up at the sky. For the most part, Skyhold was silent. Peaceful. The only ones about at this time were the guards, and they tended to stick to their predetermined routes. They were left alone.

“You know,” Varric said, staring up at the scarred sky. “It’s not so bad to look at, once you get used to it.”

Gaze sliding over to meet his, she raised a brow. “Do you really think that?” she asked. “Or are you just being optimistic?”

His lips quirked slightly. “Well, you and I both know I don’t have an aversion to scars,” he teased, looking to her pointedly. 

Whether that was his goal or not, his words got her cheeks flushing. She knew full well what he said was true - the scars that knicked her skin hadn’t suffered from a lack of affection from the dwarf. 

“I don’t think those are quiet the same thing,” she said.

“Why not?” he looked to her more fully, turning away from the darkened sky. “You didn’t get your scars from a happy jaunt through the forest. Shit went south, and it marked you. To me, they sound like exactly the same thing, just on a different medium." 

She looked at him for a long moment before slowly turning her gaze back to the sky - now, looking pointedly at the scar - the place where the breach had thrived not so long ago.

Perhaps he had a point. "It is not so bad,” she agreed after a moments pause.

Her hand, which had previously hung by her side, was caught up in his fingers. She squeezed his hand, pressing their palms together, and they both looked up to the sky.


	21. Close Quarters, anonymous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Cassandra/Varric prompt: they somehow get handcuff (tied?) together for a period of time. Hilarity, bickering and awkwardness. Bonus: other members of the Inquisition find it hilarious and don't try very hard to unstick/untie the two."

If there was anything Cassandra hated, it was blood magic. 

Though to be perfectly fair, Cassandra hated a lot of things: Politics; Liars; Thieves; Unjust actions; Cruel leaders; Cruel people; Getting food stuck under her nails; Touching something wet and not knowing  _why_  it was wet; The sound of people chewing. The list went on and on, and was rivaled only by the list of things she loved. Cassandra was not a person who committed herself to things in halves.

Blood magic, however, was one of those things that just stayed at the top of her list. Now, however, she was considering reevaluating and place it under Venatori.

“We’re going to ask you one more time,” the tevinter mage ordered, glaring at the bound duo. “What is the Inquisition planning?”

Cassandra didn’t have a moment to respond. Varric was already there. “We’ve already told you,” he groaned, reclining in his chair as if they weren’t being (poorly) interrogated. “We’re not part of the Inquisition. We’re minstrels.”

 

“Minstrels who wear armor?” the Venatori raised an incredulous brow.

“Have you _seen_ the roads?” Varric asked. “They’re crowded with thieves, bandits, _Venatori_ , Red Templars, the Inquisition. It’s insurance.”

The mage shook his head. “No minstrel could afford that armor. Just tell us the truth, and we’ll let you go.”

He was looking at Cassandra. Clearly, he had sensed her own exasperation with the events. Cassandra raised a brow. “Why are you looking at me?”

The Venatori looked back to Varric. “There is no way she sings.”

Cassandra didn’t know whether she should be offended or not. “What is _that_ supposed to mean?” she demanded. She would have punched him, were it not for the binding spell that was placed on her and Varric. Which brought her back to her original point: she hated blood magic. Namely because it’s spells were dangerous, but also because they were lasting. 

She and Varric had been bound together for three hours now. One of those hours, they had been unconscious. The others they were tied to a chair and interrogated. Beyond that, of course, was the fact that the Venatori had used a blood magic binding spell to bind the duo together. By removing their ability to move around each other, they effectively lowered their chances of successfully escaping. They were incapable of moving over two feet from each other.

“I’m just saying, she doesn’t exactly have a soothing voice,” the Venatori mage continued, shrugging.

“She sings like an saint,” Varric said, remarkably straight faced. Cassandra was definitely insulted.

“Well then sing us a song,” the mage crossed his arms.

“I don’t sing for free,” Cassandra said monotonously. Makers breath, why couldn’t Varric have gone with mercenaries over minstrels?

“How about you sing for free, or we stab you in the face.” The mage pulled a dagger from his belt. Cassandra glared at him, resisting the urge to turn her glare for Varric.

“Fine,” she bit through clenched teeth.

There was a long moment of silence as she searched for a song, trying to find something she knew the lyrics too. Finally, she settled on one of the many tavern songs she’d heard played in Skyhold.

“ _Find me still searching, for someone to lead me, can you still guide me to the revolt inside me-”_

“Right, you’re definitely lying,” the Venatori interrupted her, shaking his head. “That isn’t the voice of a minstrel.”

“I will have you know that we are _very_ popular in Par Vollen,” Varric defended her. Cassandra was certain that they had fallen into the fade again and were stuck in a strange fantasy land.

The interrogator opened his mouth to comment, but a wayward cry caught his attention. He turned with a heavy frown before glancing back. “Stay here.”

“Yes, because we were just thinking about going on a nice little walk,” Varric drawled. “Weren’t we Cassandra? Oh, wait. Our feet are tied to our chairs.”

The mage sneered at them both before turning and going to investigate. Cassandra immediately sent a heated glare towards the dwarf. “ _Minstrels_? Really?”

Varric shrugged. “What, it’s the first thing I thought of.”

“You could have said mercenaries,” she countered. “You could have said anything _but_ minstrels.”

“Is that the first time you’ve ever sung, Seeker?” Varric asked, glancing to her. “You look kind of flustered.”

Cassandra exhaled sharply through her nose, a nonverbal expression of her irritation, and turned to face the door. She didn’t want to talk about this any longer. Varric sighed, and she could practically hear his eyes rolling.

“Look, if it makes you feel any better, I can’t hold a tune either,” he said. “Whistling is about all I’m good for.”

Surprisingly, that did help. Though not much.

There was a crash as a door down the hall was kicked in. Cassandra raised a brow.

“Think that’s the rescue squad?” Varric asked.

“Maker, I hope so,” Cassandra sighed.

…

The good news was that the smashing sound was, indeed, the rescue team. The bad news was that Cassandra and Varric were still stuck together. Evidently, the blood mage who had cast the spell initially had escaped the raid. They were no roaming about somewhere in the Hinterlands. Until that mage died, the duo were stuck together.

“Don’t worry,” the Inquisitor had said soothingly. “We have scouts all over the area. We have _us_ all over the area. If the environment doesn’t kill them, then someone else will.”

“That could take _weeks_ ,” Cassandra said, her arms crossed over her chest as she fixed the Inquisitor with a distinctly displeased expression. She pretended she couldn’t see Bull snickering in the background.

“It wont,” the Inquisitor promised. “You two just stay back at camp. We’re calling all the stops to get this guy dead.”

“Come on, Seeker,” Varric said. “Think of it as a vacation. You could use one.”

“If I were to imagine a vacation, Varric, it would certainly not involve you,” Cassandra retorted plainly. Varric just chuckled.

…

They had to share a tent. At this point, Cassandra was just glad that they didn’t have to share a bedroll. They did have to stay on the same side of the tent, however. “How long do you think this is going to take, Varric?” Cassandra asked, staring at the ceiling.

“What, to fall asleep? Depends on how many questions you have.”

She sighed. “No. I meant tracking down the Venatori mage who cast this spell. How long are we going to be stuck like this?”

Varric shrugged – she could hear the way the fabric shifted – and said: “I don’t know. Depends on how fast he is.”

Cassandra looked to him. It was strange, seeing him like this, without so many layers of clothes. She wondered if he thought the same of her; even her casual wear was armored. Now, she didn’t even have that.

(Of course, normally she just wore a tunic to sleep, but considering she didn’t wear smalls, she opted for pants as well.)

“What do I have something on my face?” Varric asked as he noticed her attention. Cassandra shook her head, turning her gaze back to the tent’s roof.

“No. I was just thinking.”

“About how roguishly handsome I am?”

Cassandra made a noise of disgust. Varric just laughed.

…

Three days.

Three days of non-stop Varric.

Three days of no privacy. Three days and she hadn’t even managed to get a proper bath. Three days and she was tired, cranky, greasy, and she was saying damn it all. She grabbed a towel from the tent and threw one at the dwarf, who had up until that moment been napping.

“Get up,” she ordered. “We’re bathing. I can’t take this any longer.”

“Seeker, if you wanted to see me naked, all you had to do was ask.”

Cassandra groaned, shaking her head. “You are impossible. Now get up.”

He sighed as he got to his feet, tossing his towel over his shoulder. Cassandra grabbed soap from the requisitions officer before leading Varric south to Lake Luthias. She had brought her sword and shield to be safe, though enemies and wildlife rarely approached so close to an Inquisition campsite, and Varric had Bianca at his side. Cassandra was tense. It wasn’t because she was a prude, or because she didn’t trust Varric, or anything remotely like that. Cassandra wasn’t a prude, and she did trust Varric. The problem was the vulnerability.

She sat her stuff by the bank, pulling her tunic over her head and shimmying out of her pants. She could hear Varric doing the same by her side, see him from her peripherals, but she didn’t look at him. Despite the fact that they had to do this together, she was determined to offer him some modicum of privacy. He seemed more than content to do the same.

Practiced fingers undid the braid she kept wrapped around her head, letting the longer strands of hair fall into place.

The water was cool – soothing enough – and she closed her eyes as she savored the sensation. She hated being dirty, though she was quite capable of dealing with grime. She knelt in the water, soap in hand, and worked on scrubbing away the dirt. When she finished she finally looked to Varric, her hand extended to offer him the soap.

“Thanks,” he said, taking it. She turned her attention then to her hair, ducking under the water and running her fingers through it. It wasn’t the best job she’d ever done getting clean, but it was enough.

“Makers breath, as soon as this is over I’m locking myself in my room for a week,” she murmured.

“I wont be far behind you on that,” Varric agreed. “And I _like_ people.”

…

That night was cold. Too cold. Their blankets weren’t quite thick enough, nor were the walls of the tent, and even with the addition of pants she was cold. It wasn’t that she couldn’t withstand it – no, she was made of sterner stuff than that – it was simply that it made it that much harder to fall asleep.

“Andrastes ass, could the weather be any more unpredictable?” Varric grumbled from his side of the bed. Her lips twitched slightly. She forgot sometimes that he was an urban dwarf through and through. Cassandra sighed.

“Roll over closer,” she said.  Varric looked to her with a brow raised, and she elaborated: “If you roll closer, we can double up the blankets. We’ll get warmer faster.”

“Why Seeker, if I didn’t know better, I would start to think you liked me,” he teased, even as he moved his bedroll closer. They overlapped their blankets, and though it didn’t alleviate the cold immediately, it certainly helped her fall asleep.

She awoke as the sun rose and found herself curled against Varric’s side. His arm was around her back, palm pressed between her shoulder blades, and her face nuzzled against his neck. Cassandra froze, eyes going wide, and for a moment she had no idea what to do.

After a tense moment she slowly relaxed, closed her eyes again, and decided that there were worse things she could enjoy.

…

The Inquisitor returned that night with a triumphant grin. Apparently, they had killed the mage the night before.

Despite their renewed freedom, even weeks after the incident was over, Cassandra and Varric still found themselves hovering just slightly over two feet away from each other.


	22. Close Quarters 2, anonymous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "prompt: the cassaric 'stuck together' fic from varric's view?"

When he first learned that he and the Seeker were stuck together indefinitely, he figured that things could probably be worse; indefinitely could have been forever. For both of their sakes, it was probably best that didn’t happen.

Still, there were some silver linings. One, he now knew that Cassandra was the single worst singer he had ever had the misfortune of hearing - and he had listened to Hawke’s drunken warbling. 

The first night was fine, if a little cramped. He hadn’t been so close to the Seeker since…well, since she interrogated him in Kirkwall. Generally, they kept their distance. Not out of any distaste, of course, but they both just preferred to keep healthy space between them and other people. Personal space was incredibly important.

So, of course, that just made it all stranger. This situation was just  _weird._ But again, he told himself: it could be much, much worse. The most shocking thing that came with sharing a tent was seeing the Seeker in something  _other_ than her usual armor. It made her look softer. It was weird. Soft wasn’t really a word he would use to describe her.

 

“How long do you think this is going to take, Varric?” Cassandra’s voice broke the silence, suddenly and distractingly. He glanced towards her.

“What, to fall asleep? Depends on how many questions you have.”

She sighed, no doubt in irritation. “No. I meant tracking down the Venatori mage who cast this spell. How long are we going to be stuck like this?”

Varric shrugged – what else was he supposed to do? - and said: “I don’t know. Depends on how fast he is.”

A long moment of silence passed and he glanced over to see the Seeker watching him. That was strange. “What do I have something on my face?”

Cassandra shook her head and looked back to the tent’s roof. “No. I was just thinking.”

He grinned: “About how roguishly handsome I am?”

She huffed, a distinct note of disgust colouring the sound, and Varric chuckled.

…

Okay, Varric took it all back. There was nothing worse than being stuck to the Seeker. This was the height of punishment. What had he done to deserve this? What god had he managed to offend?

Well. Probably many. But that wasn’t the point.

Everything was fine - they were fine - until she threw a towel at him and demanded they bathe. He hadn’t thought much about it at first - it was Cassandra. She hardly classified as a sexual interest (though that wasn’t to say she wasn’t attractive - she just…well. He didn’t know how to explain it).

Of course, that was until  _after_ she got undressed. 

Varric didn’t meant to stare, or even look beyond what was necessary/accidental. But there was something undoubtedly appealing about seeing her out of all that armor. He held back a curse, rinsing his hair off in the lake and ignoring her for a long moment. As long as he could.

Then she turned to him, offering the soap, and though he kept his focus directly on her hand he still saw her. Makers breath. She was - wow.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice blissfully level. She didn’t notice anything amiss, not that he could tell. But he noticed.

Specifically, he noticed the way the small of her back met the top of her backside, surprisingly shapely for all that her armor hid it. Then her legs - Andraste’s tits, her legs. No legs should be that nice.

The scariest part was it was clear she was strong - muscles lined her abdomen, her arms, her legs, every part of her that could look muscled was. She could probably snap him in half, if she had the mind.

That just made her more attractive.

He backpedalled quickly, looking away and focusing his attention on the soap, imagining Bartrand in lingerie in an attempt to derail his dangerous thoughts. It worked, and for the rest of the bath he kept his attention focused solely on himself.

“Makers breath, as soon as this is over I’m locking myself in my room for a week,” she murmured, pulling him from his thoughts.

“I wont be far behind you on that,” Varric agreed, though not quite for the same reasons as her.. “And I  _like_ people.”

The last thing he needed was to be attracted to the Seeker. Especially while they were stuck together.

…

He managed to keep a clear head through the night, up until the winds picked up and the tent got much too cold to provide any sort of comfort. 

“Andrastes ass, could the weather be any more unpredictable?” Varric grumbled.

Cassandra sighed. “Roll over closer,” she said. 

Varric looked to her with a brow raised, trepidation settling in his viens, and she elaborated: “If you roll closer, we can double up the blankets. We’ll get warmer faster.”

He could think of several ways they could get warmer faster. Shit. Don’t think that. Deflect. “Why Seeker, if I didn’t know better, I would start to think you liked me,” he teased. He moved his bedroll closer, perhaps despite his better judgement, and they overlapped their blankets.  He was still freezing his ass off, but the shared heat gradually warmed him until he could finally fall asleep.

Morning came and he woke to the Seeker, curled against his side. And shit, but if he wasn’t holder her back. His arm was around her back, palm pressed between her shoulder blades, and her face nuzzled against his neck. He laid their quietly for a long moment, unwilling to wake her, but still felt her tense slightly when she came to.

He tensed, expecting her to do - something, whether it was hit him or quietly roll away - but after a tense moment she slowly relaxed, closed her eyes again.

Varric didn’t know what that meant. He didn’t think he wanted to.

But Maker, if she wasn’t warm.


	23. Circles, anonymous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "so if you're still taking Cassarric prompts, how about one where they get lost and then they walk around for hours, bickering like an old married couple, before they find out they had been really close to camp all along..."

“We’re going in circles,” Cassandra said, hand braced on her waist as she came to a stop, looking around the area with a critical eye. “Varric, we’ve been here before.”

“Are you sure?” Varric asked, glancing around. “I don’t remember that rock.”

Her eyes narrowed in on where he was pointing. “What rock?”

He waved his hand. “That one, there. I don’t remember it.”

“Makers breath, Varric, that’s pratically a pebble,” she complained. Cassandra shook her head. “We’ve gone the wrong way. Again. We need to turn around.”

“And what good would that do us, dear Seeker? Other than get us more lost.”

Patience was running thin between them - they’d been trying to find their way back to camp for the past few hours, turning this way and that and completely failing to make it anywhere remotely close. At least, not by any markers that they recognized.

“It’ll get us back where we started,” she said. “That way we can start over.”

“And then wind up just where we are right now all over again,” Varric argued. “No, there’s no point. That’ll just get us even more lost.”

“I don’t think we could get any more lost than we are right now,” she argued. “That - there are no degrees of lost. There is just lost.”

Varric opened his mouth to retort when they heard a cough from their left. They turned and spotted Dorian there, brow raised.

“Hate to interrupt,” he said. “But camp is that way.” He pointed through the trees. “We could hear you bickering from there. At first it was cute, but now we just want to rest.”

Cassandra, at least, had the decency to look flustered.


	24. Songfic, anonymous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Please Don't Go - Barcelona, Cassaric"

Cassandra had always felt first and thought later - not that she didn’t try to be the opposite. She expended a lot of energy trying to make her emotions listen to her reason, generally to the best result, but sometimes it was a difficult balancing act to maintain.

They were on a break.

She had no idea what constituted a break, however. She’d never needed to know. Varric had been honest, however, and when the topic had been broached she didn’t see any trace of deceit. Before, she might have discounted that completely, but now? After everything?

Liar though he may be, he wasn’t cruel. He wasn’t a bad person. She might not always trust his words, but his deeds went without question.

Part of her wondered, though, how much time would have passed before he told her of Bianca if she hadn’t appeared. Would he have ever told her? Did she really need to know?

She supposed she didn’t. She hadn’t told him about Regalyan. Why should she have expected him to tell her about Bianca?

Varric said he needed time. Cassandra didn’t think she could give him anything but that.

It didn’t make the waiting any harder.


	25. Three Sentences, iwroteyoutwentysixletters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "1: Josephine and Iron Bull :O 2: 5 star restaurant"

Josephine looked at the Iron Bull with a raised brow, asking: “Do you even know how to make tuna tartar?”

The behemoth of a man scoffed, gesturing towards her with his knife: “Do I know how to make a tuna tartar, she asks.”

Really, Josephine shouldn’t have been surprised when the tartar he offered was one of the best she’d had; not that she would tell him that.


	26. Flirtations, anonymous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "On mobile so don't know if this will go through but Cassaric prompt: Varric isnt a jealous man but even he has to feel peeved when a crowd of nobles flirts with (an oblivious or uncaring) Cassandra."

To be perfectly frank, Varric didn’t understand why the Inquisitor insisted bringing people with her to Val Royeaux for her shopping trips. Specifically: why she brought him. Or Cassandra. Vivienne? He could understand. But as stylish as he may be, he had no real purpose on these trips. And Cassandra? Well, she may be royalty (“Distant royalty” her voice corrected in his head), but she was better suited to slamming her shield into things. Not window shopping.

“What about that bed?” the Inquisitor asked, looking at the ornate frame. Vivienne hummed in consideration, and Varric officially tuned out.

Honestly, he didn't  _want_ to know what bed Curly and the Inquisitor were getting cozy on. He sighed, leaning against a nearby wall and glancing around. His gaze faltered slightly when it landed on Cassandra - who was suddenly surrounded by Orlesian nobles.

“What’s this?” he murmured, watching with a raised brow.

Cassandra looked like a mix between bemused and irritated as the group settled in around her, each wearing an assortment of clothes and masks that ranged from the subtle to the ostentatious.

“Seeker, it is not often we see you in Val Royeaux,” one was saying, his body angled towards her. “What brings you here?”

“Business,” she responded shortly. 

They were not deterred. Varric crossed his arms over his chest, watching curiously, an amused grin crossing his features. It didn’t take a genius to see what was going on here.

“How long are you in the area?” Another asked, hand raised to non-subtly show off the glittered rings that adorned his fingers. “If you would like, I can arrange a meal for us.”

“No, thank you,” the Seeker shook her head. “I am here on business.”

“That’s such a shame,” the third man sighed. “Surely you have some free time? The Inquisitor cannot be so cruel.”

“I am busy by my own choice, I assure you,” Cassandra argued levelly.

“And can you not mix business with pleasure?” the first asked. That caught Cassandra’s attention. Her brow raised as she looked at him.

“Pardon?” she asked. She raised a hand as the men went to respond. “No - on second thought, I don’t want you to say anything more. You must excuse me. I have business to attend to.”

She pushed away from them, making her way towards Varric. He was grinning at her as she stopped by his side.

“So, Seeker?” he asked. She looked at him, brow raised.

“So what?”

He snickered. “Do you ever mix business with pleasure?”

Cassandra slapped him on the shoulder. He figured he probably deserved that one.


	27. Varric's Tunic, anonymous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "please never stop writing about cassandra wearing varrics tunic"

Some days, Cassandra just  _needed._  

Though she wasn’t an advisor and she wasn’t the head of the Inquisition, she still held considerable sway. The troops looked up to her. Cullen looked up to her - respected her, at the very least - and though Leliana was more than capable of making her own decisions some days even the Spymaster looked to Cassandra for her opinion. Everything was stress, bearing down on her shoulders, and inevitably the pressure worked its way under her skin and settled there like an itch she couldn’t scratch.

Of course, that didn’t stop her from trying. When she made it to her room from the training grounds, where she’d volunteered to help Cullen with some of the newer recruits, she pulled her armor off as quickly as she could without risk to herself or the plating, immediately relaxing once she was free of the heavy armor.

Tired hands ran through her hair, dragging her nails over her scalp and trying to release some of the tension that had settled just behind her eyes. She slowly made her way to her bed, picking Varric’s discarded shirt from the floor with her toes and kicking it into the air.

Catching the airborne shirt, she pulled it over her head and didn’t bother making it fit properly before plopping dramatically face down into her bed. For a long while she laid there, breathing slowly and trying to unwind, but that stress was still tensing her shoulders, lurking under her skin, and she groaned irritably into her pillow.

Slowly, she turned onto her back and stretched, arching off the bed and moaning as her back popped. When she flopped back into the mattress she felt slightly better, but not much.

Her hand rested innocently against her stomach, idly scratching along her waist where her trousers had left marks in her skin. She was hardly paying the action any mind, but the longer her hand lingered the more ideas she got.

Varric had mentioned stopping by later, offhandedly, but she didn’t know when. Really, she could have waited for him - but that was under the assumption that he would be in the mood for sex. It was also under the assumption that he would be there soon.

Weighing her options, Cassandra decided to throw caution to the wind. She was tense. She’d had a long day. She deserved this.

Fingertips slid over her abdomen slowly as she parted her legs, letting her fingers lazily trace over herself, almost hesitantly, as if she wasn’t yet certain if she really wanted to invest in this. As her finger passed over her clit and a subtle swell of pleasure moved through her, however, she made her decision.

She kept her touch light and teasing as she traced along the seam of her, exerting just enough pressure to get her breath catching with every upstroke. Her finger circled her clit, teeth biting down on her lip to hold back a moan at the pleasured shock that trembled through her.

Her fingers moved slowly, shifting between delicate brushes and firm strokes, the pattern inconsistent and based only on the way her body reacted. Her other hand, previously twisted in the blankets bunched under her, caught her breast in her hand, pulling and kneading the heated flesh through the fabric of Varric’s shirt. The tantalizing brush of silk against her breasts - which had always been sensitive - had her mouth dropping open as a low moan moved through her.

Parting her thighs further, she slowly sank a finger inside of her, curving it upwards to carefully rub that spot inside of her that always succeeded at driving her up the wall with need. Small whimpers left her, her hips bucking desperately.

Both hands met between her thighs, fingers teasing and pinching her clit as the others desperately worked to push her to completion, to wring every drop of pleasure she could.

The sound of the door opening ripped her from her focus, her thighs slamming together quickly - inadvertently trapping her hands in place. She looked up, breathing heavily, and relaxed only slightly when her eyes landed on Varric. His brow was raised, hand holding the door open. When their eyes met, he closed it behind him.

“Looks like someone got started early,” he said, an amused grin quirking his lips.

Cassandra huffed, parting her legs again and withdrawing her hands. “I had a long day,” she said.

“I can see that,” he retorted, pulling ofd his gloves. “Is this invitation only?”

She smiled slightly, leaning back and relaxing again, letting her hands slowly trace over her abdomen. “No.”

Varric’s eyes were glued to her hands, drinking her in as he disrobed. So she playfully slipped her hand back into place, gasping a little louder than she might have as her finger slowly circled her clit.

“Now you’re just teasing me,” he said, tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. She let her gaze rove over him, reacquainting herself with his shape. He joined her on the bed, settling between her thighs, but when she made to pull her hand away he grabbed her wrist.

“Varric?” she questioned.

“Oh no,” he said. “You wanted to tease me. Don’t stop.”

Heat blossomed in her stomach at that and she bit down on her lip, hesitating only briefly before pressing her fingers back into place. Having him here watching her made this an entirely different experience. She got hotter faster, her hips rolling desperately against her fingers as she searched for friction - for relief. His eyes were glued to her, drinking her in as she rolled her clit between her fingertips. His hands moved over her legs, massaging her thighs and wringing a soft mewl from her lips.

Then his mouth replaced his hands, finding the sensitive skin of her thighs and sucking hard. She cried out, arching against the bed as her fingers moved faster. He could never leave marks where others would see, but that didn’t stop him from leaving them in secret places. The insides of her thighs often sported a mottled assortment of marks, from teeth and lips alike, and each time he left one she was pushed closer and closer until finally-

She cried out, body arching desperately as she came, fingers locking in place as her hips rolled. Varric pulled back, watching her almost reverently as she slowly came down and tried to catch her breath.

“You might as well keep that shirt now,” he said, slowly tracing his palm over her thighs. “Cause I’m not gonna be able to wear it without imagining this.”

Cassandra smiled lazily at him. “You’re the one that leaves them here,” she said, hooking her leg around his waist as he moved up her body, trailing kisses along her abdomen as he went.

“You’re the one that likes them so much,” he retorted, nipping under her belly button.

“Are we really going to argue over your shirt?” she asked.

Varric just snorted. “We argue about everything else. Why not my shirts?”

Even as his mouth darted lower to press against her clit, she couldn’t help but acknowledge that he had a point.


	28. Drunken Truth or Dare, screwthisnaming

Being a member of the Inquisition wasn’t always doom and gloom, littered with fights and debates. Some days, after particularly hard-won victories, they had a chance to relax. To push aside the building stress in one fell swoop before they inevitably returned to their duties. Depending on the event that acted as a precursor to said attempts at relaxation, the outcome varied. Drinks, however, were almost always involved. For people such as Varric or Bull, this was no issue, as they held their liquor better than half of the Inquisition. For people like Cassandra, however, it was more of an effort.

Varric found her in her room, hunkered down at her desk with a frown on her face and a glare that was no doubt way too venomous for the innocent papers in front of her. “You look stressed,” he said bluntly.

Cassandra looked up at him and sighed heavily, setting the book aside. “That would be because I am,” she responded. He closed the door as Cassandra pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes.

“You know, you  _are_  allowed to take a break every once in a while,” he drawled, moving towards her. Her hands fell into her lap as she looked at him, brow raised.

“We are rather occupied, Varric,” she reminded him. “Considering Corypheus is still alive.”

He shook his head. “And you’ve done everything you can right now to stop that. You’re going to overwork yourself.”

“And what would you suggest?” Cassandra asked, looking at him with an unimpressed expression.

“Some of us are down in the tavern,” he said. “If you wanted to stop by.”

The offer was tempting. Cassandra considered for a moment before finally nodding, getting to her feet. Varric grinned in success.

“Come on, don’t look so defeated,” he teased as she rolled her eyes. “For once we aren’t fighting for our lives. Enjoy the moment. If you wanna get really adventurous, maybe even try slumping in your seat.”

She snorted, shoving his shoulder playfully as they left her room and set a path to the tavern. Though the Inquisition had long since learned of the duos relationship, they still endeavored to keep the majority of their personal lives behind closed doors. Cassandra cared deeply for Varric - and though it wasn’t said, she knew he felt the same for her - and though she considered many members of the Inquisition her friends, she wanted some things reserved just for herself.

People joked, of course, about her and Varric. They teased, all with good intentions, but aside from her dismissive retorts she ensured that they never gained any more insight into their relationship than she felt comfortable giving. 

Sometimes, it was just nice to have something that was wholly hers, without the input of other people. They didn’t need to know the nuances of their relationship - the only ones who did were Varric and herself.

A group of the Inquisition had gathered around a large table, much like when they had played Wicked Grace together. A similar selection of people had attended: Cullen and the Inquisitor sat side by side, murmuring about something (of which Cassandra was certain she didn’t want to know). The Iron Bull and Dorian sat nearby, laughing about something (that Cassandra was positive she also didn’t want to know), and Josephine, Krem, and Sera had made themselves comfortable around the table. Cassandra and Varric took the last two open chairs - coincidently beside each other - and the Iron Bull straightened once he saw everyone was there.

“Alright,” he grinned. “Now that the lovebirds are here, we can get this ball rolling.”

Cassandra raised a brow. “Dorian is practically in your lap, and  _we’re_ the lovebirds?” she asked. There was a foot of space between her and Varric’s chairs. Even the Inquisitor was closer to Cullen than Cassandra was to Varric - and those two always blushed and stuttered over the slightest show of affection.

The Iron Bull shrugged, unfazed. “I’m just that good.”

Rolling his eyes, Krem spoke up above the Qunari to say: “Alright. Does everyone have a drink?” When no one denied it, he nodded. “Okay. We’re playing truth or dare.”

Cassandra’s nose twisted up. “Are we children?” she asked.

“Come on, Seeker,” Dorian grinned, leaning forward. “You haven’t even let the man finish explaining.”

“It’s not  _just_ truth or date,” Krem defended. “We’ve got some rules to add to it.”

“Essentially, if there is a truth you don’t want to answer or a dare you don’t want to do, you can opt out by taking a drink,” Josephine stepped in, using her most reasonable tone. “That way, you aren’t obligated to reveal anything you don’t want to.”

Sera snorted. “So Cassandra’s gonna be tits up by the end of this, yeah?”

The Seeker bristled, and pulled her drink closer. “Fine. Who start?”

“I will,” Dorian ofered, leaning forward and staring Krem down. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” the charger said without fear, leaning forward and bracing his elbows on his knees.

Dorian grinned. “I dare you to go talk to that waitress you keep eying across the bar.”

The Charger faltered, face going red. The Iron Bull laughed from his seat as Krem stood, smoothing out his tunic. It was clear he didn’t want to go, but it was also evident that he didn’t want to be the first to opt out of a dare. Everyone watched curiously as he moved to the bar, leaning to talk to a pretty waitress who smiled and nodded before getting him another tankard of ale. The charger returned to his seat moments later, stubborn expression on his face.

“That was quick,” Josephine observed.

“Dorian just said I had to talk to her,” Krem pointed out. “Didn’t say anything on what about. I just ordered another drink.” He sat the tankard down by his first, both full.

“Now that’s just cheating,” Dorian protested.

“Fair is fair,” The Iron Bull said, grinning with pride. Honestly, proud was the only way he ever looked at his Chargers. “Next time try harder.”

The Magister huffed and sulked in his seat, and Krem looked to Sera. “Alright. Truth or dare?”

“Pfft,” Sera scoffed, kicking her legs up on the table and leaning back in her chair. “Dare. ’m not a wimp.”

“Alright. I dare you to streak around the barracks,” Krem said, jumping in head first. The elf blinked, and scoffed again.

“What, like tha’s a challenge?" 

The elf stood, and off her boots went. Cassandra sank lower into her seat, pressing her hand over her face. "Makers breath, we’ve only just started,” she protested. Varric gently patted her back.

“It could be worse, Seeker,” he said.

She looked to him, brow raised. “Really? How?”

The dwarf grinned. “Krem could have dared you.”

Cassandra sighed heavily, looking back just in time to watch Sera charge from the tavern, completely nude and without the slightest bit of shame. Cullen’s cheeks were pink and he seemed very interested on the table. Eowyn and Josephine were both giggling to each other.

“I don’t think you thought this through, Krem,” the Inquisitor said.

“Yeah?” Krem asked.

“Now we have to wait for her to come back without getting distracted.”

It took a moment but Sera did return, still bare and strutting proudly back to her seat. She didn’t bother redressing, just propping her feet back up on the table and grabbing her ale with a cocky grin. “A bit nippy out.”

Eowyn snorted. Krem shook his head. “Yeah, we can see that.”

Sera beamed proudly before turning her gaze to the group, giving everyone a measuring look. Her gaze lingered on Cassandra for a moment too long, immediately setting the Seeker on edge, and Sera must have sensed her trepidation. 

“Oh, Seeker, lovely Seeker,” Sera smiled. “Truth or dare?”

She hesitated for a long moment, weighing her options. She could opt out of either with a drink. It wasn’t that bad. And she was more scared of what Sera would ask her to do than what she would ask her to answer. Cassandra had no qualms of being the first person to pick truth.

“Truth,” she said. Sera visibly deflated for only a moment before grinning wickedly.

“Alright then. What’s your favorite position? Sex wise. With Varric.”

All eyes slid to her and Cassandra didn’t waver in the slightest as she reached out, grabbed her ale, and took a very pointed drink. Sera deflated. “Come one, that’s not even that bad!” she whined in protest. “Come on, I’ll even give you a list. Missionary? Doggy? Oh, I bet you like that-”

“No,” Cassandra said simply, voice booking no room for arguments. She looked to the Commander, her muscles tensing when she caught the devious glint in Bull’s eyes.  He was planning something. She would have to keep an eye on him.

“Cullen. Truth or dare,” she said.

“Uh….truth?” Cullen responded, a bit hesitantly. Cassandra had no idea what to ask. She’d never been any good with these things.

An idea struck her. She asked: “How many times did you rehears telling the Inquisitor you thought about her?”

Cullen looked to Eowyn, wide-eyed and pink-cheeked. “You told her how that went?”

The Inquisitor had the decency to look a little bashful. “She’s my friend?” she offered as an answer. “But…I would like to know the answer.”

The Commander sighed heavily, rubbing his forehead. “About four times. Satisfied?”

Cassandra nodded, crossing her arms over her chest and settling back in her seat. She was content to wait until it was her turn to answer again.

…

Questions and Dares went around the group, bouncing back and forth, and after several rounds Cassandra realized she had inadvertently set a pattern for herself. Almost every question sent her way regarded Varric and herself – she had never realized their love life was such a hot topic to the Inquisition. Each was met with a drink.

On the good side, however, was that Varric was equally quiet. He also had a higher tolerance, however. Cassandra was steadily losing ground.

“Alright, Inquisitor,” Dorian said, leaning back in his chair, still completely sober. The man had no shame. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” Eowyn answered without fear.

The mage grinned slowly. “Where is the most adventurous place you and the Commander have had sex?”

Cullen choked on his drink. The Inquisitor pale and sent Cassandra a furtive glance that didn’t go unnoticed. Dread settled in the Seekers stomach.

“I – uh,” she ran her fingers through her hair, holding it from her face. “The…war table…”

Cassandra’s head jerked up, wide-eyed, and she stared the Inquisitor down. “The _war table?!”_ she gasped. “I _work_ there!”

“So do we!” Eowyn defended.

“Yes, but you aren’t the only ones!”

Josephine was laughing in her seat, remarkably well put together considering she’d had just as much as Cassandra to drink, if not more. Antivans.

“Alright, alright,” Eowyn said, blushing pink and trying desperately to derail the conversation. “If we could move on?”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m never movin’ on from this,” Sera snorted. She had her dress on again, but that was only because someone (Cassandra) had dared her to put something back on and Sera was currently trying to prove that she would do any dare and answer any truth without hesitation.

So far, she was winning.

“Anyway!” The Inquisitor said loudly, “Varric. Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” the dwarf answered, reclined in his seat and watching everyone with an amused grin. He didn’t look any worse for wear. Cassandra was a little jealous.

“Where is the strangest place you’ve ever had sex?” Eowyn asked.

Varric took a drink. Everyone groaned collectively. Cassandra was glad he didn’t answer – she knew that the response wouldn’t be with her. She wasn’t jealous by nature, but with ale in her system and a slowly faltering filter, she knew it was better that bit of information was kept to himself.

“Alright, Tiny,” Varric looked to Bull. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” the Qunari answered, arms crossed.

“I dare you to hold hands with Cullen for the rest of the game,” Varric ordered.

The Iron Bull looked to the Commander, holding out his hand and waggling his fingers. Cullen sighed but placed his hand in the Qunari’s, and the duo sat there – one with a completely content expression, the other looking as if he’d rather be anywhere else. Eowny laughed, gently rubbing Cullen’s back. The Iron Bull turned his attention to Cassandra.

“Alright, Seeker,” he said. “I dare you to kiss Varric.”

She blinked at him. Really? That was it? She leaned over, to everyones surprise, and gently pressed her lips to Varric’s temple before pulling back in time to relish everyones expressions.

“What? That doesn’t count,” Sera protested.

“He never said where,” Cassandra pointed out. 

“Hey, it’s better than her drinking again,” Iron Bull admitted with a sigh. “You win this round Seeker.”

Cassandra smiled proudly. She really did.

…

More time passed. Cassandra was long past two glasses of ale. Everything was getting fuzzy, and it was hard for her to concentrate on the dares. Varric was as sturdy as ever - still far from his limit, even with the number of questions he had to evade - and Sera was passed out under the table. Surprisingly, she was a bigger lightweight than Cassandra.

Or, she thought she was. Sera could have very well been drinking more than Cassandra noticed. That sounded like something she would do.

The Seeker was slowly sinking lower in her seat, relying on the chair to support her weight. It didn’t take long for her to hit the tired portion of drunkenness. 

Suddenly she leaned, bracing her weight on Varric, who paused mid drink. He sat his tankard aside, gently pressing his hand to her back. “You alright there, Lioness?” he asked softly. Cassandra only vaguely noticed that everyone’s conversations had started to waver.

“I’m tired,” she informed him, eyelids fluttering. “And very drunk.”

“You could have stopped after two,” he reminded her, gently rubbing her back. “Do you want to head back to your room?”

That got her emotional, for some stupid reason she couldn’t explain. Cassandra wasn’t a weepy drunk by any means, but she was less reserved. It was her lack of reservation that had her saying, muted but still loud enough for the others to hear: “I love you, you know that, right?”

Varric’s hand paused and it got very quiet. 

Finally he nodded, turning and letting his lips brush against her temple. “I know, Lioness,” he said. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”

Surprisingly, no one jeered as the duo abandoned the game. Apparently, it was more fun wheedling for answers than actually getting them.


	29. Varric's Tunic (again), anonymous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "ohhhhh my goddddd. u should def write more cassaric smut. like hot dayum"

Cassandra woke up half on top of Varric, his arm around her waist and her nose tucked into the crook of her arm. Her leg was hooked over his waist, his thigh pressed between her legs.

Well, that explained her dreams. She gave an experimental shift, just barely moving, and the move allowed the subtlest tremor of pleasure to radiate through her.

Slowly, she pushed herself up, running her fingers through her hair to force her bangs from her face. Varric’s eyes cracked open as she moved, watching her curiously.

She bit down on her lip, debating for a moment before leaning in close to gently kiss along his jaw.

Varric chuckled, the hand at her back sliding down to move under her shirt - technically his shirt - and rest at the small of her back. “I take it you slept well?” he asked, voice still heavy from sleep.

“I did,” she agreed, her voice equally hazy. Her hands braced against his bare chest, blunted nails scraping gently over his skin.

Their lips met slowly, lazily tasting each other as her her hands mapped over his abdomen, sliding down to his trousers and taking her time as she tugged the laces loose. She gave him more than enough time to redirect her attention, but instead of pushing her hand away he pressed up into her palm, encouraging her touch.

As she pulled him free her teeth dragged slowly over his lip, hand wrapping around his length and stroking him leisurely. He exhaled slowly, his breath tickling her neck, and she smiled slightly.

The silk shirt was drooping over her shoulder now, and he took advantage of the expanse of flesh the movement revealed. His mouth dropped to the curve of her breast, tongue trailing designs over her skin before he slowly - carefully - scraped his teeth over the sensitive flesh.

“Varric,” Cassandra moaned, arching and carefully squeezing him. He groaned, hand at the small of her back pressing encouragingly. The press pressed her more firmly against him, and as he ran his tongue over her nipple she didn’t bother stopping her hips from rocking against his thigh.

He kissed further down her chest, sucking a mark on her chest only when he was certain her clothes would cover it. Her free hand leapt up, twisting in his hair and holding him close.

His hands fell to her thighs, gripping her and adjusting her position so she straddled his hips. The motion took her hand from him, but the absence didn’t last long. He sank into her with a curse and Cassandra cried out, arching into him and rolling her hips eagerly.

The leisurely pace from before faded with each touch, friction driving her pleasure higher and rending soft mewls from her throat. His tunic was bunched at her hips, clinging to one shoulder as its only purchase, and Varric wasted no time in dragging lips and teeth over the skin it exposed.

“Come on, Lioness,” he murmured, hand slipping between them to tease her cit. Her eyes flew open at the pressure, crying out as her hands tangled in his hair. Her hips sped up, his fingers pinching her clit, and she was losing her mind with desperation.

It took her a moment to realize she was begging him, soft words tumbling from her lips, and Varric met her with a hard thrust of his hips. She cried out as she came, fire rampaging through her veins as his name left her throat. 

He followed soon after, and when the intensity passed Cassandra wasted no time in pulling away to curl back up against his side. He idly pulled the tunic back into place on her shoulders.

“Good morning,” he said.

Cassandra smiled, hand resting against his chest. “Good morning.”


	30. Novel Idea, anonymous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "cassaric nsfw prompt: cassandra (or varric) wanting to try out one of the smuttier scenes in a novel? probably one of his"

Cassandra was hesitant, at first, to say anything at all. She didn’t really know why. She had been in Varric’s lap plenty of times - it made kissing him that much easier - and she knew for a fact that he enjoyed having her in his lap. So far, however, they simply hadn’t gone further than that.

The first time had been in her bed and more emotional than she’d ever anticipated, her leg hooked over his hip as they laid on their sides. they’d switched things up since then, but they always ended up on either her bed or his.

There was, of course, the time that she sat on the table while his mouth was between her thighs, but that happened fairly frequently and was nothing new. Not that she  _needed_ anything new. She probably wouldn’t have said anything at all if it weren’t for his damn books.

In the latest chapter of  _Swords and Shields,_ the Guard Captain had had yet another steamy encounter with her lover. This time it had been in her office, and she’d pushed her lover into her chair before straddling him. The image was a tantalizing one, in part because she could remember quite vividly what it was like to sit in  _Varric’s_ lap.

Finally, she gave in. She knew he wouldn’t mock her, and she knew that it would be worthwhile. She waited until she knew Varric was in his room before moving, tracking her way through the fortress until she came upon his room. She didn’t knock - she didn’t have to anymore - and the dwarf looked up  from his desk as she entered. He had been writing something, either or letter or more of his serials.

“Seeker,” he greeted, brow raising as she closed to door at her back. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms behind his head. “What can I do for you?”

Cassandra asked: “Are you busy?”

He shook his head. “Nothing that can’t wait till later. Why?”

Steeling her resolve she said nothing, moving forward and straddling his lap in a smooth movement. His brows jerked up and his hands settled automatically on her waist. 

“Is this fine?” she asked, running her hands down his chest.

“I’ve never complained before, Lioness,” he reminded her, letting his hands slide down to her thighs.

Taking that at face value, she ducked to catch his lips with hers, her fingers twisting in his tunic and holding him to her as his hands slowly massaged her thighs, creeping slowly upward as he did.

So far, this was nothing new. Varric had a way of kissing her, though, that made her forget her plans fly out the window. She held fast though, gently rocking her hips against his when his hands slipped up to undo the belts of her chestplate.

In hindsight, she probably should have left that off.

The chestplate proved only a minor distraction; he unsnapped the belts quickly enough, a skill born of trial and error, and once the garment was removed she focused her attention on kissing him again, dragging his lip between her teeth and sliding her fingertips through his chest hair. 

“Rough day?” he teased, hand slipping under her shirt to brush against the underside of her breast. Her breath caught slightly.

“Perhaps I just want you,” she murmured, dragging her lips across his jaw before nibbling at his ear lobe. His moan made her stomach tighten in anticipation.

“Believe me, I’m not complaining.”

Her hands slipped lower, undoing the silken scarf around his torso and pulling it side before delving under his shirt to drag her nails over his abdomen. He groaned, closing his eyes for a moment, and she smiled slightly.

Their shirts came over their heads quickly, Varric’s mouth pulling away from hers to litter kisses over her chest, nipping and sucking at her breast as his hands slowly worked her pants over her hips. She was a mewling mess, trembling under his touch as she rolled against him, the friction of his length against her core only driving her desire higher.

Then he tried to stand and she pressed her hand to his chest, pushing him back into the chair. He pulled back to look questioningly at her. Her face was flushed, the red tent slipping over her neck and chest. She stood though she loathed to part, pulling her pants off the rest of the way before reaching to tug his trousers down.

Once both were bare she returned to his lap, perching on his thighs as she pressed her mouth to his throat, sucking carefully as to not leave a mark. Whether the others knew or not, she still preferred to keep any signs of their relationship where others couldn’t find them.

When he finally filled her, familiar and aching in just the right way, her body arched against his and she had to remind herself to move. Her hips rocked with his, slow and teasing at first, until the slow burn wasn’t enough and she braced her feet against the floor. He watched her with heavy lidded eyes, hands moving reverently over her skin as she rode him, his fingers gripping her hips tight.

The angle had him brushing against that certain spot inside of her, and with each shift of their hips she cried out her pleasure, alternating between low moans, breathy gasps, and mewls that otherwise would have no place on her tongue. As her muscles tensed he gripped her hips harder, holding her still as he bucked up into her, and when his hand slid between their bodies to brush skilled fingers against her clit she cried out his name like a prayer. She fell over the edge, body tensing as pleasure blacked out her mind, and his face pressed to her chest as he followed soon after, holding her body close to his.

She came down slowly, gently running her finger through his hair, and he pulled back slightly to smirk at her - a gesture that was largely ineffective, given the softness of his eyes.

“So…I take it the latest chapter rubbed off on you?”


	31. Naked, anonymous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Possible prompt: Varric accidentally sees Cassandra naked. She gets over it quickly. Him not so much."

Bathing wasn’t always something that the Inquisition managed to do regularly - at least, it wasn’t when they were staying in the camps. In the Hinterlands, it wasn’t so bad - they had a central camp set up just north of Lake Luthias, and to the west of that was a river that ran up through the ravine and towards the gorge. Water was in no small supply, and so the long hours of traveling didn’t get quite so..smelly.

The Emerald Graves weren’t bad. Not as much water, but still, there were enough abandoned villas everywhere that you could find  _something_ nearby. And it wasn’t the Hinterlands, so that was a perk.

Don’t even get Varric started on the Storm Coast, though. That was just a nightmare, and he Fallow Mire was also straight out, unless you had a thing for bathing with corpses. And if you did, Varric asked that you keep that between you and your gods.

The Western Approach was the worst of it, though. At least, it was up until they secured Griffon Wing Keep from the Venatori. It was an impressive hold, with enough security to hold off an army (so long as that army didn’t include the Inquisitor, apparently). Best of all: running water. The Keep had an aquaduct system that kept water running in from the springs. It wasn’t quite so nice as Skyhold’s system, but it was definitely nicer than rolling around in sand until you got used to the grainy feel of your skin.

 

“Right, I’m going to go take advantage of the water,” Varric grunted as he stood, shaking his head and swearing he saw sand tumble from his grimy locks.

“What, can’t stand a little dirt?” Iron Bull teased, reclined in a chair like he had no worries in the world.

“Yeah, I’m sure Dorian would love to hear you say that,” Varric retorted. The Qunari chuckled as he took his leave, heading down towards the baths. Contrary to his normal observant nature, he didn’t think twice to wonder where the Seeker was before he stepped into the store room that acted as a precursor to the baths. Even if he had wondered, he wouldn’t have had to wait long for an answer.

The Seeker stood on the far side of the room, change of clothes resting on a ledge while she dried her hair with a towel. She didn’t seem to notice him immediately, but he had  _definitely_ noticed her. Water droplets still clung to her skin, dripping slowly along the subtle curve of her spine, over her backside and down thick thighs that looked as if they could crush a mans skull with the slightest provocation. And Varric quite liked his skull.

When caught in a potentially deadly situation, such as the one he now found himself in, the brain liked to slow things down - draw out the torture - and Varric had never expected to have this sort of view, so he stood there even longer than he might have without saying something.

What he could say, however, was that Cassandra Pentaghast had  _great_ legs. Great everything, actually. Makers breath.

“Shit, sorry,” he apologized immediately, turning and covering his eyes for good measure.  _Act like you didn’t see anything, Tethras,_ he cautioned himself. _Getting stabbed by a naked woman only sounds good on paper._

“Makers breath - Varric!” He heard movement from behind, an aggravated sigh. “Couldn’t you have  _waited?”_

Varric rolled his eyes and sassed back, despite his survival instincts telling him to just apologize and run far, far away: “What, until I knew where everyone in the hold was? I’m not a mind reader, Seeker.”

She sighed heavily at his back.

He wasn’t dead, though. So that was a bonus.

“It’s fine,” she said finally, giving him pause. “You just caught me off guard.”

Yeah. She’d caught him off guard too.

“Anyway, I’m finished,” she continued. “It’s no matter.”

“Right,” he responded, turning to see that as he’d distracted himself she’d pulled on leggings and an overly-large tunic. The tunic was loose, but her skin had still been wet when she tugged it on, and patches of darker fabric clung to her and he could see her - “Sorry about that,” he said quickly.

 _Don’t stare at her chest,_ he murmured in his mind.  _You’re lucky she hasn’t stabbed you yet._

She left and Varric held his breath until she was gone. He pressed his hand to his face, dragging it down, and no matter  _what_ he thought of he couldn’t stop picturing her -  _shit._

He moved to the baths, pointedly ignoring the way his body was reacting to his thoughts. He’d never really thought of the Seeker in any way other than ‘teammate’. He liked her, sure, but that was once he got past the sincere fear of winding up on the wrong side of her blade.

Naked, she was still intimidating. Still strong. Still really,  _really_ attractive.

“Shit,” he cursed.

_Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit._

He had the hots for the Seeker.


	32. Positions, anonymous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I agree with Sera. What positions do Cassandra and Varric do? ((if you dont take nsfw prompts feel free to ignore))"

If Cassandra had to hear one more lewd comment she was going to punch Sera in the face. The Iron Bull escaped the same punishment only because she was certain he would derive some sort of pleasure from it.

Really, she wasn’t upset with Bull; after an initial comment, he would back off and leave the topic well enough alone. Sera, however, didn’t have that same preservation instinct.

As a result, Cassandra had gotten rather skilled at blocking the nosey elf out. Most days.

 

“So, do you use a swing or somthin’?” Sera asked. 

Cassandra looked slowly to the elf, brows furrowed in a complete lack of understanding. “I’m sorry?”

Sera grinned wide. “You know, one of those swings you can hang from the ceiling. That way the whole height thing isn’t such a problem, yeah? He can just lower you.”

The Inquisitor and Dorian were snickering in the background, besides themselves with their humor, and Cassandra was tempted to punch Sera right on the nose.

“We  _do not_ use a sex swing!” she said, scowling.

Giving a high noise of glee, Sera pointed to her: “You answered me! You actually answered! I was just talkin’ to talk. I can’t believe you actually - does this mean you’re gonna give us the whats what?”

“No.” Cassandra turned and kept walking. The others kept up, and the Inquisitor showed no issue with the warrior taking the lead.

“What, Varric always talks like he’s gret, yeah? Is he actually? Or is his tongue only good for-”

“Sera, if you value _your_ tongue, you will hold it, lest you want me to rip it from your mouth.”

It was the closest Cassandra had ever gotten to actually lashing out at the elf, and the Inquisitor (blessedly) took that as the sign to officially intervene.


	33. Heavy Plates, anonymous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "prompt: Varric helping cassandra out of her heavy plate armor"

Cassandra cursed under her breath as her fingers fumbled with the clasps of her armor. Her brow was furrowed in agitation, and she cold only hold her breath so much. She sighed heavily, irritation causing her to bite her tongue as she shifted focus to her shoulder guards.

“You alright there, Seeker?” Varric asked, watching her from the other side of the campfire. She had taken a pretty hard hit earlier - the behemoth hadn’t managed to wound her, but her armor was another story. His hit had landed on the clasps along her chestplates side, buckling the metal. A follow-up blast of flame from a Venatori mage had melted the metal, and now she was wondering if she could ever remove her armor.

“It’s stuck,” she said, clearing away the majority of armor until she was still left with the damn chestplate. She needed to get out of it, though. The metal was digging into her side, and it was compressing her more than it should. If she didn’t get out soon, she could run into some serious problems.

“Why didn’t you mention something sooner?” Varric asked as he pushed himself to his feat, crossing to settle in beside her. 

“I didn’t realize that it was so bad,” she admitted. Her fingers returned to her clasps, pulling hard, but her nails weren’t helping here here. Each tug pulled at her otherwise well-kept nails, sending annoying stings of pain through her fingers. “Makers breath, this is ridiculous.”

“Here, let me help,” Varric offered, reaching out. She moved her hands to make room for his, and she grimaced as his tugs scraped her armor against the bruises on her ribs.

He noticed, and frowned slightly. “Sorry, Seeker. But this isn’t gonna be easy.”

“So long as I get it off, I don’t care,” she admitted.

He chuckled, getting a firm grip on the first latch. “Can you exhale and hold?” he asked.

Cassandra nodded, taking a few breaths before exhaling slowly and holding her breath when she had no air left to give. It gave him the maneuvering room he needed, and without her having to contort to pull open the clasps Varric was able to undo the first of three clasps. Cassandra nearly sobbed in relief as she took in a deep breath. The armor was still tight, but the pressure on her lungs lessened.

“Alright, the rest should be easy,” he said. He moved to the second clasp, and they repeated the process. When all three clasps were open Cassandra pulled the armor off with a gasp of relief, tossing it aside as she fell back into the ground and breathed deep.

The dwarf was laughing at her, shaking his head. “Glad I could be of service, Seeker,” he teased, amused. “I don’t think you’ve ever looked so happy.”

“You try fitting in that armor,” she groused, pressing fingers to her tender side and wincing slightly. “I’m going to have to get a new set once we return to Skyhold.”

He chuckled. “You have fun with that. I’m going to go ice my fingers.”

She glanced to his fingers, which were slightly red. She frowned. “Thank you, Varric,” she reiterated, glancing up to him. He just shook his head.

“Not a problem, Seeker. What would we do without someone to mow down the opposition?” He teased.

Cassandra rolled her eyes, but exasperated as she was she couldn’t stop the amused quirk of her lips his words brought.


	34. Caretaker, anonymous

Varric had been in some seriously bad situations before. He’d been stuck in the Deep Roads. He’d stood by as Hawke went one-on-one with the Arishok. He’d watched as Anders blew up Kirkwall’s Chantry. He’d been captured and interrogated by the Seekers of Truth (and though he and Cassandra were friends now, that still classified as a bad situation).  Now he was in the Inquisition, which was born of a bad situation from the get-go.

This, however, was definitely a bad situation. Not the worst ever, but definitely bad. Definitely worth cursing over.

Darkspawn had taken to surfacing along the Storm Coast, land of the perpetually grey clouds and grey waters and grey ground and grey beaches and grey _everything._ Sure, there were some green trees and grass, but everything else? Grey. If Varric never saw the colour grey again it would be too soon. Even the Darkspawn had grey, twisted skin. It was a match made in the depths of the void.

The problem beyond the Storm Coasts completely uninspiring colour scheme, however, was the caves. Some were small, ducking just barely into the cliffs interior, and others sprawled all the way to the other side of the coast. It was a nightmare, and reminded Varric of every reason why he never wanted to live in Orzammar. Too many damn tunnels.

(Varric hated caves, if you hadn’t noticed).

Spelunking aside, they had still spent a good portion of their time on the grey beaches killing grey-skinned darkspawn while staring over a grey ocean. It had been cathartic at the least. Things had been going well enough, until the group moved into a cave.

Never trust a cave. Varric was going to make sure that was a lesson he put in all his future works; caves were evil. Caves were naturally suspicious. Don’t go into cave unless you have a long list of escape plans.

The Inquisitor hadn’t been as hesitant as Varric was. “It’ll be fine,” Eowyn had said, lighting ancient torches as they went deeper into the cave. “These caves have dozens of exits. If one closes, we can just go around.”

He wanted at laugh very sarcastically and angrily at her now. He would have, too, if they weren’t separated by several feet of collapsed cave. Cassandra was curled up beside him, head bandaged as best as he could manage from the supplies he’d carried with him, and she’d already been given a health potion to try and speed up the healing. She’d taken a heavy rock to the head, and it was fortunate her reflexes allowed her shield to catch the worst of the brunt. But she’d been unconscious for thirty minutes now, and they were still waiting for the team to return with the scouts to clear away the rubble.

They were alone, fortunately in a fairly enclosed space where no spiders or bears or whatever the hell lived in caves could lurk up on them. Even though she was unconscious, he was holding her hand. He liked to think that maybe it helped her some.

Cassandra groaned and he moved to her side, watching her carefully. Her eyes fluttered open and he breathed a sigh of relief. Consciousness was a stark improvement.

“You alright there, Seeker?” he asked. Her hand turned in his, pressing palm to palm.

“My head is killing me,” she murmured. “But, aside from that, I am fine. What happened?”

“One of Dorian’s spells went sideways,” he said. “Hit the wall, and we got stranded on the other side. You managed to deflect the rocks with your shield, but still took a nasty hit to your head.” He paused. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” she said immediately. “Sore. Confused.”

He sighed. It could be worse. It could be much, much worse. “Don’t worry, Seeker,” he said, running his thumb over the back of her hand. The Inquisitor and Dorian went back to camp to get the scouts. They’ll be back to start clearing away the rubble any minute.”

“That’s good,” she agreed, closing her eyes for a long moment. He was almost worried she’d gone back to sleep until she finally asked: “How long have I been unconscious?”

“About half an hour,” he answered honestly. “Not too bad. I was worried, with the way you hit your head, that things were going to be worse. You hear stories about things like that.”

She smiled slightly, the barest upturn of full lips. “Please. It would take more than a few rocks to do so much.”

Varric chuckled, shaking his head and lifting their hands to press a kiss to her knuckles. “I don’t doubt.”


	35. Stolen Shirts, anonymous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part One of Two; "so glad to find more cassandra/varric shippers! if you're taking more prompts; cassandra stealing varric's tunic and maybe his reaction to seeing her wear it?"

Varric couldn’t find his shirt.

Now, Varric could admit that he wasn’t the epitome of cleanliness. He was used to living in the Hanged Man, after all. Things had a habit of getting misplaced, but that was only ever with small things. Maybe a quill, or a lockpick. Never his shirts.

He wasn’t too concerned - he had more than one - but he was curious. He really didn’t know where his shirt could have gone…

An idea hit him, and he considered it for a moment. It was perfectly plausible, though he couldn’t think of when she would have had the time to do it, nor why she would. Regardless he picked himself up and set off for Cassandra’s quarters. He took a slightly longer path, mostly to throw off any curious eyes. It wasn’t that he and Cassandra were keeping it some ultimate secret - they just liked to keep things private. That included keeping people from knowing when they were together or not.

He knocked gently on the door and was surprised when it opened on it’s own - normally, she made certain to close her door more firmly. He poked his head in, glancing around, and his gaze stopped on the bed.

Cassandra was curled around her pillow like a squid, her face buried into the crook of her arm. Her legs - long, smooth, and very much appreciated legs - were bare. If he took his time admiring them, well, he couldn’t blame himself. Cassandra had great legs. Great everything, really.

Most noticeable of all, however, was what she  _was_ wearing. 

“Well, that answers that question,” he murmured. His tunic was draped over her, too large for her smaller frame. The red fabric was hitched around her hips, revealing more skin than he would want anyone who wasn’t him to see, and the sharp v of his neckline was completely useless when it came to providing any actual coverage. 

Actually, she might pull his shirt off better than he did. That just wasn’t fair.

He moved to the edge of the bed, reaching out to nudge her shoulder. Her head moved slightly, just enough for her to open one bleary eye. “What is it?” she murmured into her pillow.

“I didn’t know it was naptime,” he teased. She huffed, lifting her head slightly and rubbing at her eyes.

“I was tired,” she said. She looked at him more clearly - though obviously still drowsy - and asked: “What’s going on?”

“Well, I was looking for my shirt,” he said. “And I found my shirt.”

She blinked and then had the decency to look slightly bashful. “It’s comfortable,” she defended herself. 

Varric rolled his eyes and pulled off his jacket and gloves, setting them on her table. “Scoot over.”

Cassandra raised a brow but did as he asked. He kicked off his boots before taking a seat on the bed and then laying out beside her, promptly replacing the pillow she had been hugging. Cassandra smiled slightly at him as he stretched out, slipping her arm around him and burying her face into the crook of his neck.

“If you really like it, you can keep it,” he told her, letting his fingers slip into her hair. She was silent for a long moment.

“If I do that, then it wont be the same,” she murmured. He raised a brow.

“What do you mean?”

She sighed heavily, the breath tickling his neck. “It wont smell like you,” she admitted begrudgingly. Varric snorted.

“Shit, you really are a romantic, aren’t you?” he teased.

“I will kick you out of this bed, Varric.”


	36. Stolen Shirts, actualprincessjemmasimmons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part Two of Two

Varric couldn’t find his shirt. Again.

By now this had become a reoccurring event. He would wake up one day and one of his shirts would be missing. Now, of course, he knew who the culprit was. It was Cassandra. Every time he tried to offer her a shirt to keep, she would shake her head and give it back to him, only to wait until later to snag one of his shirts. He let her do it, of course. He liked seeing her in his shirts as much as she liked wearing them. Sometimes it got a little inconvenient, though. Like when she stole his last clean shirt.

So he opted for a set of armor he rarely wore. It was good armor – it actually had a sturdy chest plate, for once – and though he felt a little weird wearing something that didn’t show off his chest hair, the armor made up for it with the lack of sleeves. Not many people knew it, but Varric had nice arms. Usually they were covered by his jacket, or his sleeves, but you didn’t wield a crossbow like Bianca without getting some nice arms out of the bargain.

He left his room and headed towards the kitchens, where a few of the cooks swooned as he grinned and asked for some breakfast. He stayed down there and chatted with them as they worked and he ate, learning all sorts of interesting gossip as he did. The Kid was apparently doing strange things still – something about missing mint, and turnips on the windowsill – but he figured there was a reason for everything. He’d ask him about it later.

He learned that Dorian and the Iron Bull had been seen making eyes at each other, which shocked him approximately none, and that the Inquisitor and Cullen had been seen disappearing into the battlements like a pair of teenagers, giggling as if they were being secretive. Curly was a good man, and a lot of things, but secretive? That wasn’t a word he would use.

The most interesting bit of information, however, was about Cassandra.

“I don’t know what’s different,” the head chef mused to herself, drumming her fingers on the counter. “But she must have changed her armor or something. She looks different.”

His brow raised. “What do you mean, changed her armor?”

“Well, normally she has this blue coloured undershirt, right?” a smaller chef said, motioning to his own shirt. “But she’s in red today.”

“You pay attention to what the Seeker wears?” Varric asked, brow raised. The chef blushed.

“Not – not actively!” he defended. Varric laughed, shaking his head.

“I’m sure the Seeker will be flattered,” he teased as he pushed away from the counter. “Thanks for the talk. I’ll be around again later.”

He moved away from the kitchen, plucking an apple from a basket as he left, taking a bite as he considered what he’d learned. So apparently the Seeker had decided to actually wear his shirt today. And apparently people hadn’t made the connection yet. Where the chefs just unobservant? No, he knew that wasn’t it. They noticed everything, even if you didn’t think they did. You had to try real hard to keep secrets from the working staff; they were everywhere, knew everything, and had memories like steel traps. He and Cassandra only avoided detection because they were, in part, lucky, and also subtle. Apparently, however, that was being ignored today.

He went to the hall of the fortress after dropping his clothes off to the washrooms, taking his time as he worked on his usual things – work didn’t stop just because the world was ending, after all. Usually, it just got worse.

The door swung open then and he raised his eyes to watch as the Seeker walked in, attention focused solely on whatever papers she held in her hand. She offered Varric a small wave, though her eyes never left her work, and he used that as an opportunity to inspect her. True to the chefs words, she was dressed differently. Under her chestplate was a red shirt with gold trimmings, the sleeves wrapped around her wrists and tucked into her gloves to hide the more incriminating details and to disguise their ill fit. All in all, she did a good job of making it look like your average shirt. Had he not known, he might not have made the connection immediately.

As it was, he crossed his bare arms over his chest, watching as she walked passed him and towards the War Room, where the head honchos of the Inquisition were set to meet and deliberate troop movements or whatever was on the days agenda. The Inquisitor and Cullen had yet to pop up, which made Varric think they had lost track of time in the battlements.

Cassandra disappeared into the war room, and a few minutes passed before the Inquisitor scurried through, her hair slightly more disheveled than usual, and a few seconds after that Cullen walked through with a little more grace (but not much). Varric smirked and looked down to his manuscript.

Looks like the cooks were right about more than one thing today.

…

He didn’t see Cassandra again immediately. She was focused on her work, running here and there, and Varric was content to let this play itself out. When it got later in the day he moved into the tavern, taking a seat at the bar with the Iron Bull and Krem, both of whom seemed to be in particularly cheery moods as they regaled the tavern with one of their many stories. Varric listened, leaning against the countertop and laughing with the rest of them, and eventually Cassandra made her appearance. She moved to the bartop and him, still looking slightly distracted. Her hand fell on his shoulder and her mouth opened to speak, but when flesh met flesh she staggered and glanced down at him.

Had Varric known that he would garner such a reaction from the usually unflappable Seeker, he would have worn this armor sooner.

“What are you wearing?” she asked, her eyes pratically glued to his biceps. Varric grinned and crossed his arms purposefully. Cassandra followed the motion as if she were hypnotized.

“Well, all my shirts are dirty or _missing_ ,” he stressed the word pointedly, raising a brow. “So I had to wear something else.”

She swallowed. “Oh.”

Her hand was still on his shoulder, and Varric really hadn’t expected the outfit to affect her quite so drastically. He knew she liked his arms, even though she hadn’t specifically said it, but the way she liked to drag her nails down them when they – shit. He shouldn’t start thinking about that here. Even though it was hidden, she was still wearing his shirt, and it was very easy to remember how she looked in _just_ his shirt. Makers breath.

“Uh, guys?” Bull’s voice broke the silence. “You two lovebirds alright?”

They jerked back to the real word, turning and noticing that the Iron Bull was looking at them with a knowing gleam in his eyes. Krem was shaking his head, looking towards the ceiling as if it could grant him patience, and Varric knew that the game was up. They’d done so well keeping their relationship under wraps. Of course a stupid thing like this would slip them up. That was just his luck.

“Hey…” The Iron Bull leaned closer, eying Cassandra shirt. Her hand tensed on his shoulder even as it dropped to her side.

“What?” she demanded bluntly, acting as if nothing were out of the ordinary. Bull reached out even as Cassandra pulled back, and his fingers caught her sleeve and pulled it from her glove. Gold stood out for the whole world to see and Varric groaned as the Qunari got a shit-eating grin on his face.

Of everyone who could have found out first…it had to be Bull. Varric was already counting down to when the whole of Skyhold would know. First, the Iron Bull would tell Dorian. Dorian would tell the Inquisitor. The Inquisitor would tell Cullen, who would probably talk to Cassandra about it. Krem probably wouldn’t tell anyone on his own unless Bull prompted him too, but the whole of the Chargers would know before the night was over, and who _knew_ who they would tell.

Varric was going to miss the privacy.

“Bull!” Cassandra chastised, immediately pulling back and shoving her sleeve back into her glove. It was too late, though. The cat was out of the bag. Varric heard Sera giggle-snorting in the background, and any chance of any portion of the Inquisition starting the next day unawares of him and Cassandra’s relationship flew out the window. The Qunari was grinning like it was a national holiday.

“So, how long has this been going on?” he asked. “Unless it’s always been going on.”

“I don’t see how that is any of your business,” Cassandra retorted stiffly, crossing her arms over her chest. Varric had to agree with her there.

“Look, it happens,” he said calmly. “You work together long enough, things happen.”

“ _Things?”_ Bull stressed, waggling his brows. Cassandra made a noise of disgust, shaking her head.

“I am not talking about this,” she said. “As it is not any of your business.”

The Iron Bull sighed heavily, slumping into his seat. “You just take all the fun out of everything,” he groused. Sera, however, was not so easily appeased.

“No, wait, I’ve got some questions,” she spoke up, leaning around Bull to look at them. “Like, how do you two even _do_ it? Considering, you know. Positions.”

“I am not having this conversation with you,” Cassandra said sharply. Varric was definitely in agreement there. He stood, grabbing his tankard.

“Right, on that note, it’s time for me to go pretend I still have some privacy left,” he announced.

“Quite,” Cassandra agreed in clipped tones, moving to follow him from the tavern.

Sera was cackling as they left and Cassandra gave a heavy sigh, rubbing her temples. Varric patted the small of her back.

“We’ve probably got an hour or so before the people in the tavern tell people who weren’t there,” he said, an attempt to sooth her.

“I don’t want you to take this the wrong way,” she said, catching him off guard as she looked to him. “I am not upset that people know because I am ashamed, or anything like that.”

“Seeker…”

His interruption went ignored. Cassandra continued: “I am not ashamed of you, or our relationship. I just wanted it to be only ours for as long as it could be.”

Shaking his head, he said: “Cassandra, it _is_ still ours. Just because people know about it doesn’t change that.”

“I know,” she sighed, rubbing her temples. “I suppose I am just too used to keeping secrets. I don’t know how to react when people know things.”

That made sense. He didn’t feel the exact same way, of course, but he understood where she was coming from, and he also wished that their privacy had been upheld a little more thoroughly. He grinned teasingly: “So I should probably not wear this armor any more?”

She sent him a look, one that had his heart quickening slightly. “Quite the contrary,” she said. “Though in the future, I’ll try not to steal your last clean shirt.”

He grinned slightly. “Oh, it’s not so bad. I like seeing you in it, remember?”

They began walking again, slightly slower this time, before he looked to her again. “Is your door open tonight?” he asked.

“Of course,” she responded smoothly. “When is it not?”

Varric grinned. “You never know, Seeker. I just wanted to be sure.”

“My door is opened,” she said. “And I expect to see you there so I can properly inspect this new armor.”

Varric sighed teasingly. “You know just the right words to get to a mans heart.”

She shoved him as he laughed at her, and though they parted ways for the moment, Varric knew he would see her again soon, and that would be far more enjoyable than simply flustering her with his biceps.


	37. Attraction, anonymous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "prompt: varric realizing he is massively attracted to cass"

The first time Varric considered Cassandra in any context outside of their professional relationship and tentative friendship was in a dream. It had started out simply enough; in his dream the group was moving through the Hinterlands, complaining all the while, when suddenly a group of Venatori mages had attacked them. Cassandra had been captures and it had been placed solely on Varric’s shoulders to rescue her, and when he had burst into the castle, Bianca leaving a trail of bodies in his wake, she had been dressed in this ridiculous dress that the real Cassandra would never wear, swooning like the real Cassandra never would, and as helpless as a newborn kitten. Something else Cassandra would likely never be. He had saved the day, rescuing her from a dragon (which made no sense, even to his dream self, because if anyone was going to be rescuing _anyone_ from a dragon, it would be Cassandra rescuing _him)._ As thanks she had kissed him.

That was when he woke and knew something weird was going on.

 

He thought about it that day, considering what the dream meant; he wasn’t going to immediately jump to the conclusion that he _wanted_ Cassandra, because he’d had several strange dreams involving people that he knew for a fact that he would never want in any way beyond friendship. So he had to think of it logically.

Obviously, Cassandra had been the victim because she was royalty. Not quite a princess, but still royalty. The dress was because she was a princess, the kiss because everyone knows how the old ‘go rescue the princess’ story ended, and he was the hero because, well. It was his dream. Who didn’t want to imagine themselves a hero every now and again?

After some brief deliberation, he wrote it off as his storytelling getting the best of him. He didn’t think of the dream for a while after that.

Weeks passed and their tentative friendship turned into an honest one. The dream returned, and he waved it off. But then it kept returning, and with each rerun came a different ending. Things gradually changed from completely unlikely to slightly plausible. She wasn’t a princess in danger – she was a warrior, the last of two standing as they tried to bring down a steadily staggering dragon. Fire belted down on her, which she deflected with her shield like it was child’s play, and Varric kept the pressure from a distance. Arrows buried themselves along the dragons brow, piercing through armored flesh but never quite deep enough to maim. The dragon roared as Cassandra’s blade sunk into it’s hindquarters, swooping it’s tail dangerously close to the warrior. A kick of it’s leg had Cassandra flying backwards, and it was left to Varric to defeat the noble beast. He did so with Bianca in a matter of bursts – completely unlikely in real life, but anything was possible in a dream. Once the beast was felled he rushed to Cassandra’s side, the picture of a concerned lover, and she had smiled at him and kissed him till he woke with tingling lips and the wish that it had been real.

He told himself he just wanted her gratitude – that was all. A wish for recognition. Even still, a part of him knew he was lying to himself. Varric never really wanted recognition of so-called heroic deeds or feats of manliness. All he wanted was to write his books. Maybe that was it. He hadn’t wished the kiss had been real – just the gratitude.

Ever since he’d seen that look on her face – the small smile, the light in her eyes, the way her entire body softened while she held the latest chapter of Swords and Shields like it was the most important thing in the world to her – he’d wished that look had been directed at him. It was, in a way, but not the way he wanted, and now he couldn’t stop dreaming of her.

Finally, when he woke sweaty with an ache in his blood he rarely felt for anyone outside of Bianca – the Bianca, not the crossbow – he knew that something somewhere along the lines had gone horribly, horribly wrong.

Not that there was anything wrong with the Seeker. No. Cassandra was fine – more than fine, really – but she was fine. He didn’t want her to change. He liked her the way she was. But the day that he got a hard-on for a woman who had nearly stabbed him in the crotch was the day that he had to really sit and think about his priorities.

So that was what he did. He sat, and he thought, and he concluded that he had lost his damn mind. That dealt with, he shoved the thoughts away into a chest in the back of his mind and refused to acknowledge them again.

Funny thing about refusing to acknowledge something, though, was that you always had the bad habit of acknowledging that something even more.

One day, Varric noticed that her braid looked a little lopsided – which was weird. Normally it didn’t move, as if it was plastered to her head. “You alright, Seeker?” he asked. She looked at him, blinking out her confusion, and he motioned to his head as he said: “You’re a little lopsided.”

“Oh!” She lifted her hands to her hair and, to his surprise, pulled the braid right off of her head. His brow went up. It was a headband. Truly, he never really knew how she got that braid to go around her head, and he had assumed it was a rat tail, or maybe a mullet, or maybe she just had thin hair. Apparently all his theories had been wrong.

Cassandra seemed unaware of what he was thinking as she adjusted the headband, sliding it into place with practiced ease. She looked to him. “Is that better?”

He just gave her a thumbs up, still a little to disbelieving to offer her any convincing words. She nodded. “Thank you, Varric.”

“Not a problem,” he said, watching her as she walked away.

That night, he dreamt of his fingers twisted in her hair – sans braided hair band – as his lips kissed hers and their hips moved together. He woke with a need that made him groan and force his face into his pillow.

If thoughts of her damn hair were enough to invoke dreams like that, he knew he was screwed.

…

Cassandra was a woman who rarely got out of sorts. Varric could count the times she’d been compromised on one hand – and that had been when he revealed he actually _had_ known where Hawke was the whole time. She’d been livid, and though at the time he wanted nothing to do with the Seeker, he understood her rage. She was going through a rough time. It made sense to try and blame things on people, because it’s always easier to blame someone than to blindly accept it. He knew she blamed herself. He knew she blamed Corypheus. But after the initial argument, he also knew she didn’t really blame him or Hawke. That had been her emotions talking. That had been her pain.

He hadn’t gone with the team to confront the Lord Seeker, but the Inquisitor had explained what happened in hushed tones, and he knew that Cassandra wasn’t going to be alright. It wasn’t really his place to talk to her about it, but he couldn’t ignore it. He liked her. Had a massive crush on her that made him feel like a total prat. And she was hurting.

He walked to her quarters, knocking on the door as he entered. The Seeker was sitting at her desk, her face buried in her arms, and a large tankard of ale at her side. He couldn’t remember if he’d ever seen Cassandra drink more than a small glass at a time. That alone sent an alarm bell off in his head.

“Seeker?” he asked.

She glanced up at him, the makeup around her eyes less deliberately smoky and more smudged to the void and back. She shook her head, sitting up more fully and running her hand down her face. “What is it, Varric?” she asked. Her voice wasn’t harsh, or dismissive. Tired, yes, but not rude, and he took that as a good sign.

“Well, I was going to offer to drink with you in the tavern,” he said, “but it looks like you’ve already started in on that.”

Cassandra smiled slightly. “I apologize. Next time I will wait for you to offer before I decide to drink myself into a stupor.”

He chuckled slightly, though still concerned. “I wouldn’t call it a stupor just yet,” he said. “You’re looking at me with both eyes, and you’re accent isn’t nearly garbled enough. You’ve still got a ways to go.”

She laughed under her breath, shaking her head as she leaned back in her chair. Though her words and her actions were relaxed, her expression was not. Her lips were pursed too tightly, the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes too pronounced. She was young still – possibly the youngest in the Inquisition, outside of Cole and Sera – and it was strange seeing her look so tired.

“I do not normally act like this,” she apologized, running her fingers through her hair and displacing her headband. “But it has been a long day.”

Varric chuckled under his breath. “I know exactly where you’re coming from, Seeker.”

She looked at him, her eyes a little clearer and her face a little softer. “Yes,” she agreed. “I suppose you do.”

That made him uncomfortable. He didn’t want to talk about what she was no doubt comparing her situation to. He shook his head, straightening and moving towards her. “Come on, Seeker. You need to lay down, sleep this off. You’ll feel better in the morning if you give yourself a chance to sleep on it.”

She gave a long suffering sigh even as she stood, wobbling slightly on her feet before crossing to her bed, where she plopped down with a lack of grace that wasn’t entirely unanticipated. He shook his head as she kicked off her boots, nearly toppling sideways as she did, and lifted the blankets to help her get situated. She curled up, fingers holding the blankets to her chin, and looked at him with half-lidded eyes that were far more becoming than he expected.

“Thank you, Varric,” she said.

“What for?” he asked. He hadn’t really done anything.

“Everyone keeps trying to talk to me about it,” she said, closing her eyes and resting her cheek against the pillow. “Trying to help me, saying why and how and that it isn’t my fault. They have good intentions. But I prefer they treat me just the same.”

He made a mental note of that. He gently patted her shoulder. “Take a nap, Seeker.”

She reached out as he made to move away, her fingers catching his and holding his hand. What? Holding his hand? He looked at her in confusion.

“Thank you, Varric,” she said again. “And I’m sorry.”

His brow went up. “Sorry? What for?”

“For trying to punch you,” she listed. “For interrogating you. For almost stabbing you. For doubting you.”

He awkwardly scratched the back of his head. “Don’t worry about it, Seeker. We’ve moved past that.”

She shook her head. “Still. I have been treating you poorly, even though you are an ally. Even though I consider you a friend. For that, I am sorry.”

Shit, she was really out of it. Varric shook his head, gave her hand a reassuring squeeze before placing it back on top of the bed. “It’s alright, Seeker. So long as you don’t try and stab me again, we’ll be fine. I don’t hold grudges.”

Cassandra laughed, pulling her hand back under the covers as she curled up. “That is good to know,” she murmured.

Varric shook his head pulling back and heading out of the room. Makers breath, he was screwed.


	38. Babysitting, anonymous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Fic prompt - Cassandra somehow gets turned into a kid (up to you whether she's mentally a kid or not too)."

Magic had always been difficult to control, generally speaking. Magic was in it’s very nature wild, untamed, almost as if it had a mind all of its own.

Dorian had been studying the spell that Alexius had used to send the Inquisition back in time. In the event that something happened to the Inquisitor (Maker forbid) Dorian wanted something to fall back on. He had no intention of using the magic as Alexius had - oh no. He was more focused on how the spell had effected the rifts.The fact that they had effected them at all worth taking note of - perhaps, if he could figure out why, or how, he could figure out a way to change them. A way to close them, or at least stifle them.

He was doing his experiments in private, of course, to better minimize the risk. He also hadn’t told anyone what he was doing. To minimize the risk of him getting in trouble.

What he hadn’t accounted for, however, was for Cassandra Pentaghast to wander into his chambers just as the spell went off. The blast ricocheted off the wall and slammed into the Seeker before Dorian could get a stray word in. For a moment he was paralyzed with fear. That spell could have very well killed her.

The dust cleared, and he was only moderately soothed. There, laying unconscious on his floor, was Cassandra Pentaghast. She looked to be in good health, save for one major thing…

“Oh, bollocks.”

…

“Dorian,” the Inquisitor said slowly, staring in abject horror as he strode into the tavern with a child drowning in too much fabric attached to his hip. She had sharp nails that dug into his neck, wide and familiar brown eyes darting around in clear unrest, and her legs were surprisingly long though he would only place her at about three years of age. They were hooked around his waist with surprising force, and he wondered if Cassandra’s mother had known from the beginning that her daughter would be a warrior. He couldn’t see how they might have missed that.

“Hello,” he greeted in a deceptively cheery tone. The tavern was all looking towards him. “We have…a bit of a problem on our hands.”

“Andrastes ass, sparkler,” Varric spoke up. “Is that the  _Seeker?”_

“Well. Yes.”

Eowyn stood, nearly stumbling from her stool as she rushed over. “Makers breath, what happened? Why is she - small?”

“Well.” Dorian hesitated, looking down at the child, who looked up at him with judging hazel eyes. “I made a mistake.”

“ _You_ did this!?” Eowyn looked like she was going to be sick. “How?”

Dorian sighed. “That is…a complicated story. Perhaps we could go somewhere less crowded?”

 

The Inner Circle of the Inquisition regathered in the Inquisitors quarters. Cassandra the 3 year old was sitting on the bed rather quietly - she hadn’t spoken since the accident. Dorian was concerned that meant something about her mental state, concerned that he’d accidentally permanently injured one of his friends, but he refused to think on it for the moment. If he got too worried he wouldn’t be able to undo what he’d done.

“So what you’re telling me is that you were messing around with time - which you said was a horrible idea - and accidentally turned Cassandra into a toddler,” Eowyn repeated.

“I wasn’t messing around with time,” he protested. “I was trying to isolate the aspect of the spell that affected the rifts. Evidently, I didn’t succeed.”

“Evidently?” Vivienne interrupted. “My dear, you turned the Seeker into a two year old-”

“I’m three!”

All heads turned to the bed, where Cassandra was looking at Vivienne with all the offense of a child. Vivienne blinked. “What?”

Cassandra puffed up slightly, holding out three fingers. “I’m three, not two!”

Vivienne adapted quickly and gracefully: “My apologies, darling.” Then she looked back to Dorian. “You turned the Seeker into a three year old. I would hardly consider that a success.”

“Look, that’s not the point,” Eowyn said, holding her hands out appeasingly. “We can deal with that later. Right now, we need to turn Cassandra back.”

“I dunno,” Sera interjected, a wide grin across her face. “I think she’s kinda funny lookin’ like this, isn’t she?”

Cassandra looked to the elf, wide eyed, and proclaimed sternly (in a manner not dissimilar to her normal tone): “Don’t be mean!”

Varric snorted. “Yeah, Sera. Don’t be mean.”

Eowyn sighed, pressing her fingertips to her temples and closing her eyes. “Right. Alright. Things will be alright. But for makers sake, can we get her clothes that fit?”

As it turned out, there were no clothes in Skyhold fit for a three year old. Cole, being the smallest of the group, offered up one of his tunics. As Dorian went off to figure out the spell reversal, Cassandra ran around Skyhold in a baggy tunic, barely avoiding tripping and landing on her face. Her shrieking-giggles kept the normally quiet halls from getting too peacefull. 

That was how Dorian found them again. The few people who had patiences to deal with a three year old were crowded in Cassandra’s room, watching as the three year old sat belly-down on her bed and coloured with clumsy hands. Varric sat beside her, keeping an eye on her and making sure that she didn’t colour on the sheets. When Cassandra spotted him she grinned crookedly and pronounced proudly: “You only colour on the paper!”

Dorian shook his head. Varric cracked open an eye to look at him. “Please tell me you’ve figured this out, sparkler. She’s like a parrot.”

“I am not!” Cassandra protested, glaring at him in an eerily familiar way. “Don’t be mean.”

Varric sighed heavily, though the quirk of his lips said he was amused. “I’m sorry. I wont be mean.”

Cassandra nodded. “That’s okay, Varric.” And then she went right on back to doodling.

“Ah, the innocence of children,” Dorian said. “Good news for you is you don’t have to bare it much longer. I think I’ve figured it out.”

Krem looked up from his corner, blinking rapidly. “You do?”

Dorian nodded. “Yes, I do. You might want to keep out of the way, though. Last time the blast was…substantial." 

"It’s not gonna hurt her, is it?” Blackwall asked. Dorian shook his head.

“No, no, she’ll be fine. Back to her normal size, age, and temperament.” He paused, watching Cassandra doodle before asking: “Are we sure we want her back?”

“Come on, Sparkler,” Varric said, pushing himself from the bed and moving across the room. “The Seeker isn’t that bad. Just turn her back. That way, everyone’s happy.”

Dorian got the notion he wasn’t going to be happy when Cassandra was back to beat him within an inch of his life. But maybe that was just him.

“Alright then,” he murmured. “Cassandra? Could you sit still for a moment.”

She ignored him. Dorian sighed. “Cassandra. Listen to me. Could you sit very still?”

“I don’t wanna,” she said shortly, continuing to fidget. Dorian was about to lose his patience when Blackwall stepped in.

“Come on, Cassandra,” he said. “It’ll be a game. I’ll sit real still over there, and you sit real still over here. First one to move loses.”

That did the trick - the toddler scrambled to sit up, watching as Blackwall moved over to his chair and sat back. “Ready?” he asked. Cassandra nodded. “On the count of three get really still. One…two…three!”

Cassandra froze comically, her entire body tense and Dorian didn’t hesitate a moment longer. The blast of magic left him, slamming into the Seeker and causing everyone in the immediate area to stumble. When the dust faded Cassandra was back - tall and sharp as ever - settled in the middle of her bed and coughing as if she had a hairball.

She was also still dressed in Cole’s tunic, which had been quite long on her as a child. Now it was…short.

Cassandra shook her head, coming too, and when she recognized her situation she turned heated eyes onto the magister. “You have until I put pants on to run.” She said, low and dangerous.

Dorian couldn’t remember a time where he’d run faster.


	39. Cuddles, anonymous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Cassaric prompt: Varric's surprised to learn Cass is a cuddler"

Varric had accepted many times that some of his initial assumptions about the Seeker were wrong. For one, she wasn’t out to kill him. That was always good to know. The second time she’d proven him wrong didn’t come till later, when the Inquisitor mentioned the fact that she had a fondness for his books.

Now, he was surprised - he would admit that much. He knew she’d read the Tale of the Champion, since she’d quite politely stabbed that  _instead_ of his crotch, but he assumed that was just business. From that encounter he’d also derived she was somewhat-romantic - it was all in the way she spoke the way her voice shifted when the word slipped from her tongue. It was a hunch, but not one he had any proof to back until the Inquisitor practically handed it to him on a silver platter.

The third assumption she disproved was that she hated him. Now that one took some convincing, considering her outburst after Hawke’s arrival, but when she took the time to speak with him - even occasionally have drinks with him down in the tavern. The smiles she offered him were genuine - a small curve of full lips, more honest than he’d ever expected to get from her.

He could keep listing well into the night, of course, but that took too long. That evaded the entire point, which was this: Cassandra Pentaghast, Right Hand of the Divine, Seeker of Truth and all around Bad Ass, was a cuddler.

In hindsight, maybe he should have expected this. Maybe he should have put the pieces together. She had been adamant that she take their relationship slowly - as had he, to be honest - and she had also revealed (with the aid of an overly-helpful but kindhearted spirit) that she liked poetry. She was a romantic through and through and perhaps that should have made this a more obvious revelation. But it hadn’t. Varric was used to seeing her decked in armor, her casual wear even buckled and protected more than what looked comfortable, baring a sword and a shield and literally beating the shit out of anyone who got in her way. She was hard like marble, an imposing statue that represented the perfect warrior. From a distance, she looked untouchable.

Despite all that she was here, curled against his side, half asleep. Her skin was soft and warm under his hand. Her hair was mussed, the braid which she kept carefully coiled loose and tumbling to her back. Her lips were parted slightly as she sighed, warm breath caressing over his chest, and above all she yielded. Her body didn’t reject the shape of his; it shifted and molded around him, accepting him with surprising ease. Muscles he had seen used to bludgeon a man were wrapped around him, holding him with the purest intent he thought he’d ever seen.

He carefully slid his hand along her shoulder, watching her shiver under his touch and press even closer, and he smiled slightly. This was something that he was glad to be wrong about.


	40. Language Lessons, anonymous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "sneaky fic prompt if you have time - Cassandra speaking Nevarran. Or Varric speaking dwarvish. Or Varric making up bullshit dwarvish because he only actually knows like two real words. Or maybe all three of those things? idk GO NUTS"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is running off a headcanon I share with my rp buddy, which is basically that because he’s part of the merchants guild Varric is probably multilingual. Nevarra being a trade hub would give him reason to know the language (and he also knows dwarvish for the same reasons, though he doesn’t speak it for anything outside of business).
> 
> Cut because NSFW things near the end! Anything said in “Nevarran” will be in italics.

Some habits were harder to break than others. Though Cassandra was Nevarran she never really identified with her homeland – not for a lack of pride, but for a lack of substance. She had no taste for some of the ways of her people, though not all, and they had little patience for her own ‘delinquent’ nature. She was respected of course, for reasons that went beyond her name, but it was a relationship in which both parties were much happier staying far, far away from each other.

Regardless of that, however, some aspects of her heritage stuck with her. Her views on magic, though not quite as reverent as the Nevarran ways, were no doubt influenced slightly by their views. It was why she and Vivienne did not agree entirely on the subject, she had no doubt of that. Most noteably of all, however, was how the language stuck with her. Though she hardly used it, preferring to speak Common, there were moments when her native tongue slipped through. Some scenarios in which this happened she was not willing to share – but some were not so private.

Cassandra stood in the library – thankfully not occupied by the Tevinter – shuffling through the Inquisitions books. She was looking for information, something to be of use regarding the information she had learned from Lord Seeker Lucius, but she was finding nothing. Nevarran curses slipped from her as she searched, her patience thinning the longer it took.

“Looking for something, Seeker?”

Cassandra started, spinning around with book in hand, as Varric watched her with a distinctly amused expression. She sighed, lowering her arm. “It is nothing you need to concern yourself with,” she said.

“Didn’t sound like you were having much luck,” he reminded her, a hint of a smirk crossing his face. She thought nothing of it, shaking her head and turning to shove the book back into the shelf.

“It’s no matter,” she said. “It was foolish to think we would have it here anyway.”

Dorian arrived then, brow raised as he glanced between the two of them. “What’s this? Is it ‘go invade Dorian’s space’ day? And no one thought to tell me?”

“I was looking for you, actually,” Varric said. “Though when I saw the Seeker here instead, I have to admit, it threw me off.”

Cassandra scowled at them both. “And now I am leaving.”

“No, stay, chat!” Dorian protested, the sarcasm in his words enough to have Cassandra’s eyes rolling. “Please, continue disorganizing the shelves. It’s not as if I spent any time on that – in fact, why don’t you just empty the whole thing, give me something to do?”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Cassandra snipped. She wasn’t sure what had put Dorian in a poor mood – it happened sporadically enough as it was – but she had no plans on engaging with him when he was in one of his moods. “Everything is back where it should be.”

“I swear, I’ll never know if you two hate each other or if you’re secretly having sleepovers and braiding each others hair,” Varric drawled as he straightened. “You bicker like a married couple.”

“That’s odd,” Dorian said, nonplussed. “I could say the same about you two.”

That was enough banter for one day. “I’m leaving,” Cassandra huffed, shaking her head and making to escape. She didn’t hear what Varric or Dorian spoke of after, and frankly, she didn’t care.

When Varric heard Cassandra speak Nevarran was an entirely different scenario – one that, had she been asked before, she would have never anticipated.

The Seeker sat on the upper levels of the tavern with Varric, where few but Cole visited. She came to the tavern infrequently for drinks, mostly because she admitted to being a lightweight. She’d never really had cause to drink, had never found much joy in overindulging, and even now she preferred to limit herself to two pints of ale at the most. When she did drink, she preferred to do so in small company. The Iron Bull was boasting on the lower levels, gathering an impressive crowd that served to only heighten the already lively atmosphere. Cassandra had hardly thought of it when she moved up the floors to the highest level, though she’d paused when she spotted Varric scribbling away on something. She moved towards him, fueled by curiosity, and he looked up to her as she approached. “I’m surprised you aren’t downstairs with the others,” she said. “Bull seems to be having fun riling everyone up.”

Varric chuckled, shaking his head. “As fun as his stories can be, sometimes you just need to drink somewhere a little more private.” He kicked out a chair opposite his. “Take a seat if you want.”

Cassandra hesitated for a moment before settling into the seat, sipping her ale slowly. “Why not write in your room, then?” she asked.

“That’s a little too private,” he said. “I like having some background noise. I’m used to living in a tavern, remember? This is like home.”

Time passed as they sat, a mix of silence and idle chatter. One of the barmaids would ascend every so often with the offer of refills, but it was infrequent enough so that when the opportunity for a third pint presented itself Cassandra hesitated only briefly before accepting.

In hindsight, this was perhaps poor judgment on her end. As she drank she relaxed, her tongue loosening further, Nevarran escaping her when her mind refused to find the proper Common words to express herself. She had no idea if Varric understood her, though her first instinct was that he did not, but he seemed perfectly content to laugh at her when she proclaimed in a bastard mix of Nevarran and Common that she “hated nobles more than she hated politics” and that she would love to “infiltrate to Orlesian palace and steal all their cheese”.

“As punishment,” she added helpfully, nodding with sincerity. “For being so damn complicated. And gossipy.”

“Seeker, you are making my night right now,” Varric grinned, his manuscript abandoned and his feet propped on a barrel across from him.

She scoffed and the words that followed were purely Nevarran, spilling from her before her mind could even think to censer it: “ _I know of better ways I could make your night._ ”

There was silence that her mind didn’t register as she took another drink, emptying the tankard before setting it aside. Varric said: “Maybe you should rest, Seeker. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this social before.”

She sighed, resting her cheek against the cool table top and closing her eyes. That felt nice. “Perhaps you’re right.”

“Makers breath, I didn’t mean on the table.” She cracked an eye open to look at him and he had a strange expression on his face, and she wasn’t quite sober enough to discern what it meant.

Varric left and fetched Krem, who agreed to get Cassandra back to her room without drawing any attention to her. She appreciated it, in hindsight; she had no desire for the tavern to see her like that.

Their relationship changed after that. Cassandra knew why she was tense – it was because of what she had said. Regardless of the fact that Varric didn’t understand her, she remembered her words, and now she couldn’t stop considering it. It had been said in jest – she thought – but the thing about jokes was that they rarely held no semblance of truth to them. Her dreams took a turn then, and each time she woke she stared in abject horror at her ceiling.

Makers breath, but she had a crush on the dwarf. She was smitten.

This was unacceptable.

Of course, what one would once consider unacceptable had a way of changing as time progressed. Regardless of how the nature of their relationship changed, one thing remained the same: Cassandra had a horrible penchant for murmuring Nevarran curses whenever she found herself particularly lost for words.

Varric’s mouth was against her, sliding down her taut stomach as wide hands gripped her hips, holding her close, and Cassandra would be lying if she said that she hated his mouth. As it turned out, his tongue was good for much more than just talking. Her fingers twisted in his hair, small mewls leaving her as his tongue slid over the seam of her, pressing against her clit and sending shocks of pleasure straight through her body. She was a panting mess, desperate and heated and fighting for words that she couldn’t find. Nevarran spilled from her tongue in broken, unintelligible phrases. Her fingers twisted in the sheets as her body arched, impossibly close to the edge, and as his finger pressed inside of her heat, crooking just so, she came with a cry that would have woken the dead.

He pulled away with a proud smirk, watching her with heated eyes, and she couldn’t even begrudge him that. Varric was good. She should have known as much.

 _“I could get used to seeing you like this_.”

Cassandra paused as her brain restarted, her eyes flickering to meet his and that damn smirk, and her stomach dropped slightly. “You speak Nevarran?”

He grinned. “I do.”

“For how long?” she demanded, pushing herself up on her elbows.

Shrugging nonchalantly, he said: “A few years, now.”

A few years.

That meant – Makers breath.

Cassandra gave a small cry as she slammed her pillow over her face to hide the blush that erupted over her skin, his laughter only making her blush even more. “You knew! This whole time, you _knew_ what I said.”

“I have to admit, you caught me a little off guard,” he agreed. The bed shifted under him as he moved, propping himself up by her side. “But can you really begrudge where it led?”

She pulled the pillow away just enough for her to glare at him, but as she did he snatched the pillow and tossed it aside.

They were kissing again before she could complain, and though she was loath to admit it, perhaps this time Varric had a good point.


	41. Dog People, anonymous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "au where everything is the same except anders is a dog person (person who likes dogs, not a werewolf)"

Hawke sighed heavily, pressing her fingertips to her eyes as she counted slowly back from ten. “Anders. Darling. Love of my life. Why is the dog in our bed?”

Anders looked up at her, wide eyed and innocent, while Garrus just thumped his tail happily, watching Hawke with the sort of glee only a dog could muster.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

It was such a horrible answer that Hawke laughed, shaking her head and pressing both hands against her face. “Makers breath, you’re teaching Garrus bad habits! Now we’re never going to get him down.”

“But is that  _really_ such a bad thing, Hawke?” he asked, sitting his chin on the mabaris back and batting his eyes. Hawke didn’t know if she wanted to hit him, or kiss him.

“You’re an idiot,” she said simply. She snapped her fingers. “Garrus! Down!”

The mabari whined, rolling pitifully to his stomach, and Hawke groaned as Anders cooed and pet the dogs belly. 

Maker, why couldn’t Anders have been a cat person?


	42. Injured, anonymous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You take fic prompts yes? Cass/Varric Cassandra does something stupid/takes a stupid risk to protect/rescue Varric from something. He gets angry at her for it. She obviously gets angry at him for getting angry at her. UST and shippiness ensues. Yes?"

In hindsight, having only one warrior on the squad wasn’t the best idea. The team consisted of the Inquisitor, Dorian, Varric, and Cassandra. The Inquisitor and Dorian were both extremely adept mages, and Varric was a highly skilled rogue, but when it came to the Hinterlands it always paid to have a little extra muscle. Usually Bull, or Blackwall, would accompany them, but the Inquisitor had taken note of several locked doors on their last trip into the Hinterlands and had thus elected to bring Varric. He could make short work of them, and hopefully the prizes found within were worth the effort.

What they hadn’t accounted for, however, were Red Templars. Up until now, the templars had kept their business out of the hinterlands and focused north-west, in Orlais. Something had caught their eye - of what, Cassandra didn’t know - but it had brought them into the area. Into  _their_ area, specifically.

Cassandra was skilled in many things - her swordsmanship was precise, whether it be two-handed or one-handed, and her speed was outclassed only by her brutality. What she was best known for, however, was her work with a shield. Take away her blade, and she was still completely capable of not only disarming, but brutalizing her opponent. It wasn’t often she had need to, of course, but it was a comfort to know that should all else fail, her shield would be there to guide her.

She utilized this as she faced off against a Red Templar, keeping the bulk of her body behind her shield as she deflected the blows of his blade - they were admittedly strong hits, no doubt fueled by the power of the blighted blood that ran through him. As he made to strike her again she deflected once more, but this time she pushed forward. The shift caught the Red Templar off guard, the shield slamming past his defenses and into his chest and a moment later her blade was jammed into his side, puncturing through his heavy armor and severing muscle and tissue as it went. She with drew and the templar fell, a heap of metal and blood, and as she turned she spotted a sight that caught her breath for all the wrong reasons.

“Varric!”

The dwarf was working frantically, firing off arrows faster than she had seen him before, but three templars were converging on him at once, steadily backing him into a corner. The Inquisitor was busy holding off against two templars, and Dorian was faring no better, but they had the advantage of shields. Varric did not.

Cassandra acted quickly, charging forward and bodily pushing one of the three templars from his target. The templar hit the ground and had no chance of rising after her blade sank between his helm and his chestplate, slicing his throat. Cassandra didn’t think of him as she moved, inserting herself between the two templars and facing the largest - he was a hulking figure, reminding her faintly of the Avvar in the south, and he reeled back to hit her. She gave him no chance - her shield arm moved with incomparable force, the edge bashing into the mans head and sending it snapping back with a sickening  _crack._ He fell in a heap, neck broken, and as Cassandra turned to face the other when she felt a sharp pain in her side. Varric cursed loud from her left, and she paid him no mind as she moved agilely away from the templars blade.

Varric cursed, his voice coming from a different position than she remembered him being in, firing an arrow and watching as it sunk into the blighted templars chest. He gurgled and spat, collapsing to his knees, and Varric was at Cassandra’s side an instant later. Firm hands supported her side, which she kept covered with her shield. The Inquisitor and Dorian were finished now, hurrying over, and Varric’s face was (perhaps, for the first time she had ever seen) decidedly unamused.

“Dammit, Seeker. What made you think that was a good idea?” he demanded.

“You were surrounded,” she said, short and reasonable and slightly terse (though that was no doubt due to her bleeding side). 

“You were  _blocking my shot,_ ” he scolded her - as if she were a child, which really had her grinding her teeth. “Unless you wanted me to shoot  _through_ you, I wasn’t going to be able to help you until I moved. Which was a bid difficult, considering you were  _crowding me into a corner.”_

Cassandra’s mouth was open and ready to argue, but Trevelyan stepped forward with a loud, commanding voice: “If you two could stop bickering, we could take a look at her side!” she snapped. Cassandra closed her mouth tightly, looking away but dutifully revealed her injured side to the two mages. Neither of them were healers, but they knew the basics of healing magic. It would come in handy, she was certain.

Dorian  _tsked_ under his breath, shaking his head as he examined her bloodied side. “Right, lets get you back to camp,” he said. “Preferably before you bleed to death, unless you want to flirt some more.”

Cassandra glared at him, even as Trevelyan pressed careful hands to her side and let healing magic slow the bleeding and numb the pain, allowing her to stand. “Unless you would like to be the one with the bleeding side, I suggest you stop talking, Tevinter.”

To her great relief, he did, and Trevelyan supported Cassandra’s injured side as they made a quick path towards their nearest camp.

…

Cassandra sat in her tent, bare save for her trousers and the impressive amount of bandages wrapped around her side. The cut was deep - almost too deep - but she had sustained worse, and she would survive this as she did everything else. The cut that had scarred her cheek had been more dangerous than this, and if she had survived that she was certain this was just as surmountable. 

The flap of her tent opened and she watched Varric enter from her peripherals. He paused part way in, mouth opened to speak, before looking away. “Makers breath - sorry.”

She blinked, and realized he was talking about her state of undress. She shook her head. “I can hardly hold you at fault,” she said reasonably. “There is no door for you to knock on, after all.”

Regardless she pulled a blanket around her shoulders, careful not to move too much. Part of the reason she hadn’t re-dressed was because, in moving her arm, she stretched the muscles in her side. Muscles which were definitely not prepared to do any sort of moving for a while.

Varric was still there, eyes focused on her face and a scowl turning his lips. Still displeased, then. “You can’t just jump in front of me like that, Seeker. I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself.”

“It was not thought out,” she agreed, “but it was necessary. You’re a rogue - an archer. You fight best from a distance.”

“That isn’t the point, Seeker!” he shook his head. “You blocked me in. I couldn’t take a shot at the templars without shooting through  _you.”_

“You are  _angry_ with me for helping you?” she demanded, feathers ruffled. “If I hadn’t done anything, you would be the one with the bandaged side!”

“You’re lucky you aren’t worse off,” he countered, ire seeping into his tone. “If that sword had gone any deeper-”

“But it did not!” Her voice raised as her irritation grew. “Do not treat me like a child, Varric. I knew what I was risking.”

“But why the hell would you risk it for me?”

That had her reeling slightly, blinking frantically as she tried to understand why those words even left his mouth. He meant them though - his expression was serious, if confused, and he showed no signs of recanting. Cassandra didn’t know if she was offended or not.

“Because you are a part of the Inquisition,” she said, “And despite what you may think, I do not hate you. I don’t even dislike you. I consider you a friend, and as such, it falls to me to protect you when the need arises. The need arose, and so here we are.”

Varric shook his head, running his hand down his face even as he moved further into the tent. His voice was softened, and she realized it was to preserve some semblance of privacy; she had no doubt Dorian was doing his best to listen in (though he would deny it the moment she asked). 

“Look, Seeker, I don’t want to see you getting sliced open on my behalf,” he said. “Believe it or not, I don’t exactly love it when people get hurt because of me.”

“And I don’t want to see you overwhelmed by enemies when I could just as easily aid you,” she retorted. She shook her head. “Please, Varric. I’m not looking to argue about this. What’s done is done, and speaking on it wont suddenly heal my side.”

They were silent for a long moment, Varric visibly deflating before finally sighing and asking: “How bad is it?”

Cassandra shrugged - a stupid move, as he had her hissing out a pained breath. Varric’s frown deepened. “How much can you move like that?” he asked.

“Not much,” she admitted begrudgingly. “My entire right side is useless. I can’t move my arm, or my leg, without pain.”

He cursed under his breath, running his hand over his face again as he shook his head. Cassandra was touched he cared so much - in a weird way. He finally asked: “Is there anything I can do? Since this is kind of my fault you’re like this.”

Cassandra shook her head, and though she wanted to dispute his logic she couldn’t find the energy. “Perhaps just keep me company?” she requested. “I’m not going to move from this tent for a while at best.”

Varric smiled, the barest hint of his usual temperament shining through. “I think I can manage that.”


	43. Dancing, anonymous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ""I have this headcanon of Varric persuading her [to dance] just because they’re both so fucking bored" please write this omg"

“Come on, Seeker.  _Must_ you look so glum?" 

His voice had her closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, counting backwards from ten before exhaling and even attempting to respond: "Yes.”

Varric chuckled, leaning against the railing beside her. “You’re not much one for a party, I take it?”

“I am not much one for  _waiting,”_ she retorted sharply. She shook her head. “I have seen the Inquisitor walk past me eighteen times now, alternating between vying for the courts approval, eavesdropping on loud Orlesians, and reporting into Leliana for every wayward bit of information. We should have finished this  _hours_ ago.”

“We’ve only been here for two, Seeker,” Varric saw the need to point out. Cassandra huffed, crossing her arms stubbornly. It had Varric laughing, which she didn’t appreciate in the slightest.

“The  _point,”_ she stressed the word, shooting him a glare, “Is that we should have figured this out by now. There is no  _point_  in playing this game. And why they call it a game I will never know.”

His brow went up slowly and she, again, had the distinct impression that he was mocking her. “You don’t get it?”

Cheeks flushing slightly in a mix of embarrassment and irritation, she shook her head. “There is no sense to it! Games are supposed to be enjoyable. Entertaining.  _Fun._ This - this is rumor, conjecture, lies, gossip, murder! None of these things are fun. They’re trivial and…and… _Orlesian.”_  

“I never knew you had a thing against Orlais, Seeker,” Varric commented, as if that were the only thing he could take away from her response, and she wanted to swat him over the head with one of the many fancy fans she saw nobles toting around.

“On the contrary, I have nothing against Orlais,” she said. “It is the politics that I hold anything against.”

Though she had no doubt there was something wrong with her phrasing, this time Varric didn’t seem to nitpick. He hummed in consideration, looking out at the twirling forms, before finally speaking: “You know, you forgot one thing.”

Her brow jumped up. “Oh? And what is that?”

“The dancing, Seeker,” he grinned. “The most noticeable thing of all.”

She scoffed. “Oh, yes. Because dancing makes all the other faults so much more entertaining.”

“What, are you telling me that you, 79th in line to the Nevarran throne, don’t know how to dance?” He sounded completely mocking, and this time she did swat the back of his head.

“78th,” she corrected. “And I _do_ know how to dance.”

“Perfect!”

Before she had a moment to object he had grabbed her hand, pulling her out to the dancefloor. People had spotted them, and though her first instinct was to pull away she knew that doing anything less than following would cause a scene - something the Inquisition couldn’t afford. “ _Varric_!” she hissed through clenched teeth. “What in the world are you  _doing?”_

“Isn’t it obvious?” he asked, turning and catching her waist. Her hand fell to his shoulder automatically. “We’re dancing. You said you weren’t having fun, after all.”

“This isn’t what I meant,” she whispered, glancing around at the curious faces. She could see Leliana on the upper level, looking quite amused by the entire scene. “People are staring!”

“Oh, come on,” Varric grinned, guiding her into the dance - a dance she was surprised he knew, but she followed with only some difficulty. “Dancing is fun. And it’ll keep your mind off of everything else.”

“What if the Inquisitor needs us?” she asked. “How will she know-?”

“All she has to do is look at the dance floor,” he soothed, turning them around with practiced ease. “We’ll be easy to spot, considering everyone is watching us anyway.”

One day, his cavalier attitude was going to drive her completely insane. Her cheeks flushed pink and she shook her head. “Varric, this was a terrible idea.”

“No,” he retorted, slowing as the song came to an end, “This was.”

He dipped her, suddenly enough that a small noise slipped from her lips, and while everyone clapped she looked at him wide-eyed. Varric was grinning, smug in every way, and though she hated to admit it her heart was beating just a bit faster, and her lips didn’t feel to be scowling quite as firmly as she had been earlier. He lifted her again and she caught her feet, huffing slightly.

Then his hands pulled away from her and she raised a brow. “What? Only one dance?”

Varric laughed. “Well, if you insist. Who am I to refuse royalty?”


	44. Abelas, anonymous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "1. Your writing is amazing!!! Please never ever stop ;) 2) If you still take prompts for abelas fanfiction : Abelas having some sexy time with one of the female sentinels please ;)"

Abelas has never once regretted his devotion to Mythal. He imagined that he never would; but sometimes it was hard. The difficulty wasn’t in the passing of time, for he had been asleep for most of that, nor was it in the fighting.

It was the after.

 

The temple didn’t empty itself, and after the fighting ended the duty fell to the sentinels to tend to the after. Bodies were burned, some without service. The bodies of his fellows - his clan, his friends, the last strands of the elvhen people - were treated more reverently. The sleep did not return until they returned to their posts, and so they were allowed time to mourn. Time to breathe.

Centuries passed. Sentinels fell, one by one. Each one felt a little more hollow than the last.

“Abelas?”

He didn’t turn to face the elf at his back, even as gentle fingers, fingers he knew held hidden strength, encircled his wrist. “Come bathe,” she said softly. “You’re covered in blood.”

Ysmryl was a kind woman, soft and supplicating and were they assigned a different fate, it is possible Abelas would have considered starting a life with her. As it were, they were both duty bound to Mythal, and he knew neither of them had that option anymore. She was pretty - slight, with long silvery hair kept from her face with a series of intricate braids, a small upturned nose, and thin lips that held a natural upturn at their corners. When she laughed - a sound he hadn’t heard for years - her grey eyes sparkled like the skies above the Storm Coast. The light colours of her hair and eyes contrasted the deep tan of her skin in the most delightful way. Like over-eager stars flickering rebelliously over a canvas of the setting sun.

“There are more funerals to prepare,” he argued. She shook her head, stepping closer and twining her fingers with his.

“The funerals will be held tonight,” she promised him. “And the others can tend to them. Please, Abelas. You fought hard. Take the time to rest.”

He sighed slowly, hesitantly, but he found no will left to deny her with. Instead he nodded, watching as she smiled - a sight that didn’t meet her eyes - and pulled him off towards the baths. The temple was deep, sprawling almost infinitely into the Arbor Wilds, and there were rooms beyond what any average trespasser could find. Though servants, Mythal had assured them their time of waking would be comfortable enough.

They pulled off their armor with some difficulty, as time made the armor more difficult to remove, and as strips of flesh were revealed their touches slowed, lingering over familiar paths of skin and pressing as if the heat of their touches could reignite the spark that filled them when they fought.

It was harder now than it was before. Abelas wondered why he was so surprised.

Finally their armor was removed and Ysmryl took his hand, pulling him to the bathing pools and ushering him into the glistening depths. Warm water rushed around their hips, gentle currents washing the filth of the day away, and her hands moved to clean the parts of him the water had yet to reach.

At first it was almost clinical - empty gestures repeated for familiarities sake, but as her hands slipped under the water to tease him a previously absent heat sparked inside of him. Passion he had thought long lost - as he always did, after a day like today - burned through his apathy. He reached out, gripping narrow hips in his hands and pulling the elf towards him. Their lips collided and she moaned, soft and willing, her arms twining around his neck as she pulled at his lips with hers.

They kissed like the sun was dying, desperate and heavy and needy, fingers leaving bruises in their wake as they touched each other, as if the marks meant anything at all. Finally he lifted her, pulling long legs around his waist as he moved to the bank. Her back met the ground as he bent over her, his mouth at her throat and his fingers buried between her legs, rending the smallest and most tantalizing whimpers from her throat.

Hours ago she had watched him take a mans head from his shoulders with a swipe of her blade. The juxtaposition of those two scenes was tantalizing. 

She whined, arching against him as his fingers pinched her clit. Her hips rolled desperately, nails dragging down his back, and Creators but he wanted her. 

When he pushed into her she keened, her entire body arching as her fingers dug into the dirt around them, trailing rivulets in the ground as she panted his name with a reverence that almost felt sacrilegious. 

She was like fire around him, hot and demanding and consuming, and the more he gave the more he thought she would ruin him. He breathed heavily, forehead tucked against her collar as their skin dragged against each other. She was loud, whimpering and moaning and whining and Creators but the feel of her breaths on his ear was amazing.

Heat nearly punched through him as he came to the sound of her cries, her body tightening under his and burning through him, and even as they caught their breaths he couldn’t bring himself to pull away.

“Abelas,” she murmured, letting soft lips run over is jaw. “That is not bathing.”

He chuckled, weak and tired, and shook his head. “No,” he agreed. “It’s not.”


End file.
